ORBIT
by Yuilhan
Summary: With nothing out of the ordinary occurring around her, why did Inko feel as though someone had suddenly snapped their fingers right in front of her eyes? It was as though she had been drifting – sleepwalking – through the last seventeen years of her life, and now she was finally awake.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N [12/7/2018] : Just an idea I had a few months ago before I posted** _You Only Tell The Truth._ **Not sure when the next chapter will come out, but I had to post this. Getting sick of seeing it sat there in my documents folder. Let me know what you think!  
**

* * *

 **ORBIT**

* * *

 _1_

* * *

The sun had blinded her. It had blazed through the open classroom window, heating the already uncomfortably stuffy room, and filtered through the gaps of Inko's fringe. That was what she could recall when Izuku had asked her why the family business had begun.

Truthfully, there wasn't anything particularly special about that moment – an unpleasantly sunny Tuesday afternoon in sixth period Maths. The teacher droned on about Quadratics; textbook in hand and chalk scrawlings stretching behind his shoulders on the blackboard. Mitsuki was drumming her pen against her workbook; her desk was right behind Inko's. It wasn't a distracting gesture, just familiar.

There was always something about Maths that made Inko's friend restless. So, with nothing out of the ordinary occurring around her, why did Inko feel as though someone had suddenly snapped their fingers right in front of her eyes?

It was as though she had been drifting – sleepwalking – through the last seventeen years of her life, and now she was finally awake.

Highschool was nothing special. It never was unless you attended one of Yuuei's departments or had some desire of going into Heroics in the near future. Inko had been quite content at fourteen to fade into the background – just like the majority of her classmates.

Mitsuki joining her at the local public high school had been a surprise though. Mitsuki would have made a really good Hero, with her lucrative Quirk and even more quixotic temper; she could have had specks of glycerine dancing off her palms and a Villain happily trapped under her thickly soled boots had she decided to pursue that career. But Mitsuki didn't want to be a Hero. Mitsuki, at the time, had wanted to be a nurse.

Strangely, Inko could see her friend making her rounds through the ward. Mitsuki would be able to cow even the most difficult of patients into doing her bidding with one pointed crimson glare. Her bedside manner may be lacking in some areas, but if she could manage not to give her patients any extra injuries, then Inko was sure Mitsuki would succeed in her chosen career.

Inko, however, had no such plan for the future. She wrote well enough, but she couldn't see herself sitting behind a desk in an office all day long. She was creative – when money was tight at home she would butcher her existing clothes and sew them into something distinct, instead of spending needlessly on a brand-new wardrobe. Perhaps, if she could have funded it, Inko would have resigned herself to a life in academia, but part of her wilted at the thought (and at the price tag). She didn't want the restriction of a uniformed job, disliked the idea of tiredly labouring day in and day out, and certainly had no future in heroics – it would be too late for her to even begin now.

Inko, in reality, had no idea what she wanted to do with her life, and she wasn't sure anyone expected anything from her. She would often daydream about different routes her future could take, fantasy worlds, and even the swirling depths of the night sky, but would be rudely disrupted from her musings before she could finalise the scenarios and ponderings.

 _It was for the best,_ she would reason once shaken from her daydream. _I'd probably be no use anyway. I'm not like Mitsuki._

Today was different though. The maths lesson was long forgotten from Inko's mind and, seized with a new epiphany and a clarity she hadn't felt before in her life, Inko flipped to a blank page near the back of her notebook. She picked up her pencil and began to sketch.

She allowed her thoughts to drift to what she _could_ be – what _would_ be the most outlandish future she could imagine – and suddenly jotting down ideas in a notebook, just daydreaming and ruminating, wasn't enough for her anymore.

Though she was creative, Inko wasn't an artist by any means. Her sketches were flat, like the nondescript blueprints an architect drew. Maybe she was an architect? She was consciously mapping out her future on these pages after all; each decisive stroke of the pencil lead and each deep graphite line that was present on the page had a purpose. When the bell rang to signal the end of their last period, Inko had a good idea as to what she wanted to do in the future, even if for now it was a (very) silly idea. She would just have to find a way to make the clinical lines of her drawing and the hastily scribbled notes she'd made around it come true.

"Oi," Mitsuki hissed, her foot kicking one of the metal legs of Inko's chair. "Are you ready to get going?"

 _Oh_ , Inko blinked. She'd promised to walk with Mitsuki through some of the shopping districts this afternoon once school had ended, but she'd been that focused on her drawing that she'd failed to notice her classmates filing out of the room and Mitsuki cramming her books and pencil case into her bag.

Placing the pencil she had been using between the pages as an impromptu bookmark, Inko snapped her notebook shut. "Sorry, I won't be a minute."

"S'fine, I always feel braindead after Maths so I suppose you can be let off once in a while," Mistuki grumbled, stubbing at the classroom's wooden flooring with the toe of her shoe.

Having placed her things into her backpack, Inko pet Mistuki sympathetically on her arm. The taller of the two girls blinked, her eyes flicking to Inko's. "Let's go."

Mitsuki dragged her around a few small shops, and Inko waited while her friend impatiently browsed through racks of clothing. They didn't stop for long in each place; Mitsuki got frustrated if she couldn't find what she wanted initially and would often storm out in a huff before she could send the place into chaos. While this was slightly annoying for Inko, who like to take her time to browse and try items on before she regretted buying them (a lack of money to waste certainly influenced her shopping habits), she decided to make the most of her time in the stores. Her drawing still prominent in her mind, Inko allowed her fingers to caress different materials – classifying and scrutinising them in regards to safety and longevity.

If Mitsuki squinted questioningly at her while Inko checked over a pair of leather trousers, well, she just shrugged and said they looked cool.

They did, and for the most part would protect her legs. Mobility, Inko knew, would be difficult. She needed something sturdy but light that would protect her but not hinder how she moved. After hastily exiting another store behind Mitsuki, it dawned on Inko that perhaps she was going about this the wrong way.

Instead of looking for premade clothing she could adapt, why not make them from scratch once she found a suitable fabric? She could sew after all, and if she splurged her savings on a large roll of fabric she could easily make replacement garments should something happen to the originals – plus, she was the only one who dared to venture into the garden shed and could hide the rolls of fabric inside. Her father avoided the wooden shed like the plague after her mother had passed; gardening had been a passion of Inko's mother, and if not for Inko herself putting in the effort with the help of a nosy neighbour, the garden would have been left to ruin after her mother's death.

"Aargh!" Mitsuki yowled, stomping a boot-clad foot on the sidewalk. "Why can't I just find something simple?!"

Seeing that Mitsuki's palms were gradually tightening into shaking fists, Inko took it upon herself to calm the blonde down before she did something… unnecessarily flashy. "What exactly are you looking for again?"

Mitsuki stilled, face going sheet white before colour flooded back into her cheeks. "I, I-uh…"

"'don't know'?" Inko returned, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Mitsuki huffed, flipping a few errant locks of her hair back over her shoulder. "I know what I want, I just can't find it anywhere – and I really want to make a good impression for Ma-"

Inko tilted her head. "For who?"

Words couldn't exactly describe how Inko felt at that moment, watching her friend fluster in the street. It was like watching a lobster boil in a hot pot with the temperature steadily being ramped upwards; the flushed tint to Mitsuki's face soon encased her whole body.

The blonde swallowed. "Not here. I'm not tellin' you in the middle of the street. C'mon."

Mitsuki dragged Inko to quiet café. It must have been the first one Inko's friend had spotted, because she doubted Mitsuki would willingly go anywhere that was floral patterned and pastel coloured. Mitsuki liked clean, sleek eateries with noise and ambient lighting and ridiculously heavy food, so what she wanted to say must have been important for her to drag Inko into a veritable pudding wonderland.

They ordered the cheapest – fluffiest, Inko's mind supplied – thing on the menu, Mitsuki's face wrinkling in defeat when she realised her mistake. She wasn't one for sweets, unlike Inko.

Digging through her bag while they waited for their order to arrive, Mitsuki withdrew a crumpled fashion magazine. She thumbed through few pages before she found what she thought was the right one; many of them had been dog-eared, and the pages carefully patched with Sellotape. Either Mitsuki really loved this issue, or she'd tried ripping out sections of it in the shop, got caught, and had to pay for it to avoid a confrontation.

"I like this dress," Mitsuki mumbled, not quite looking Inko in the eye. "But it's too expensive and I can't find anything else like it in the shops."

"'Tsuki, that's the horoscope section," Inko blinked. Mitsuki hastily flipped the magazine pages until she found what she had intended to show Inko. A leggy, thin woman sported a sleek red dress in the main photograph on the page. The model smiled blandly, her figure hardly defined by the clinging material.

They were momentarily interrupted by the waitress delivering their food; Mitsuki snatched the magazine out of the way, stuffing it onto her lap almost protectively. Her cheeks were flushed like she was an errant child doing something she shouldn't, and while Inko had been confused before, she was more so now regarding Mitsuki's frankly weird behaviour.

Before Inko could respond, Mitsuki shoved the magazine right in front of her face. The red dress photographed there filled her eyesight. "Um, it's nice I guess-"

"Right?" Mitsuki crowed. "I'd look killer in it, but I can't find anything similar."

"But why-"

"Because I've got someone to impress," Mitsuki snipped, swiping up her spoon from the tray the waitress had left at their table and digging into her pudding.

Inko flushed. "Seriously?"

Mitsuki's expression had comically curdled at the sweet-tasting, gelatinous custard she'd taken a spoonful of, but her eyes were deadly serious; and if Inko knew Mitsuki like she thought she did, she knew that her friend would pull out all the stops to make sure she got what she wanted.

Biting her lip and turning her attention to the desert she'd ordered, Inko thought of a way she could help. Then it dawned on her. She needed fabric. Mitsuki needed fabric. Why not kill two metaphorical birds with the same stone?

"I think I can help you," Inko beamed, and Mitsuki leant forward eagerly in her seat.

"Tell me more."

* * *

It turned out that if you did enough digging or asking around then you'd find the information you needed, and Inko was grateful for this. Knowing that Mitsuki could be a picky (read: nightmare) shopper, Inko wanted to make fabric selection quick, easy, relatively painless, and most importantly, _cheap_. They'd talked to locals of the area who'd directed them to a small warehouse of sorts which sold fabric by the roll, rather than the skimpy fat quarters used for quilting or sewing projects.

"Have you got your bank card on you, or just a few bits of loose change?" Inko asked Mitsuki. It would be best if they had money on hand, and Inko knew she was carrying her bank card in her own coin purse. The money in it mainly came from odd jobs she did around the neighbourhood and through part-time work as a cashier in a convenience store; nothing fancy, but enough for her to get a few luxuries for herself outside of her allowance and the money her father gave her for groceries.

"I have, but I'd rather pay in cash," Mitsuki answered.

They'd passed a convenience store not long ago and doubled back to use the cash machine there. Finally sorted, and with their pursed brimming with notes, they made it to the fabric warehouse. It was arranged meticulously by fabric type; each section labelled and arranged in a satisfying order of colour rather than the pandemonium of pure stuff Inko had expected.

This was a good thing, she assured herself. She'd find what she wanted quicker that way.

Mitsuki darted off to the velvet section, her fingers reaching out to stroke the crushed pile of the fabric. Smiling at her friend's antics, Inko had to force herself away into the speciality fabric zone instead of falling pray to the sot tactile sensation of fingers running over soft velvet.

There were a lot of fabrics to look at and choose from, but none seemed fit for Inko's purpose. Coated wire mesh was light on the body and protective, but it would make her feel exposed. Spandex too was breathable and moveable; while many Hero costumes used it as a base, it clung like a second skin.

Inko had always been conscious of her appearance – it was hard not to be when you were close friends with Mitsuki, who's Quirk ensured that her body would maintain a youthful appearance. Inko wasn't Mistuki, she knew that, and she also knew that she should be comfortable in her own skin. It was just, well, easier to hide your body under clothing if you were having an off day than to display it to the whole world.

Not really seeing anything that struck her fancy, Inko went off in search of the warehouse's owner to inquire as to whether they could recommend anything to her. The man was gruff, but Inko was used to abrasive behaviour at this point. She was friends with Mitsuki still after all these years. He led her back to the speciality fabric section, shifted a couple of the rolls out of the way, and pulled out one that Inko had failed to notice earlier.

"It's infused with glass fibres and carbon steel," the owner drawled in a bored manner. "Still flexible enough to move in and to sew, but protective and less clunky than padding or armour. That is what you're going for right?" **[1]**

"Er- Um," Inko gaped.

"Y'know what, don't tell me," the owner shook his head, shoving the roll into Inko's panicked, outstretched palms. "Just don't do anything stupid."

Inko thought she was going to balk at the price tag attached to the roll, but instead she was pleasantly surprised. It would still take a decent chunk out of her savings, but she would have enough left out of what she had withdrawn that afternoon to splurge on fabric for extras. With Mituski still captivated by different shades of red velvet, Inko slunk to a section of the warehouse dedicated to leather offcuts. She delved through the piles of hides before finally settling on one she wanted; scooping it up and carrying it along to the makeshift till area the owner had set up on a rickety folding table.

"What exactly do you want this for again?" He inquired while racking up the total cost. **[2]**

"It's probably better you don't ask," Inko replied, wincing at the total. The leather had been pricier than she'd expected, but it would be worth it. She'd vaguely glanced at a small shelved area for haberdashery, but knew she had a lot of extra fittings and fixtures at home she could make use of before she bought anything extra. "My friend wants some velvet to make herself a nice dress though-"

"Not another word," Mitsuki snapped, stepping up behind Inko by the till with a huge roll of velvet resting across her shoulders.

"Mitsuki…" Inko breathed. "You're not going to need all of that."

* * *

"Are you sure you're goin' to be able to make what I want without flubbin' it?" Mitsuki probed worriedly for the umpteenth time, and Inko wanted to groan.

Rather than voicing her frustration, Inko nodded reassuringly. "Yes, I've made stuff before. I'll have to take some of your measurements, and well, I'll need the magazine to copy the design from."

"And you're goin' to make it exactly like the one in the picture?" Mitsuki pressed.

"I- well, yes? That's what you wanted right?"

Mitsuki didn't answer. While the five or so metres of fabric Mitsuki had bought would be ample – and folded up nicely to fit in a plastic carrier bag she could sling over her arm – Inko had bought the full roll of special fabric. The two teens were currently heaving it down the road, and Inko wondered how exactly she was going to sneak it in without her neighbours or her father noticing.

"Just say it's for a group project," Mitsuki shrugged, throwing Inko a confused look when the latter confided she wanted to keep the fabric she'd bought a secret. It was simple, but the excuse proved to be effective. No one bothered them on their way home – not even the guards at the train station. Inko supposed that with the strange occurrences Quirk society brought, two girls hefting a roll of fabric and a large pile of leather onto a commuter train during rush hour was nothing out of the ordinary.

"You do want me to copy it directly from the picture, right?" Inko asked.

"No," Mitsuki answered her finally. "I want you to make it better."

Inko gulped.

* * *

Mitsuki hadn't elaborated on how exactly Inko could improve the design. While studying the magazine given to her Inko wondered why exactly Mitsuki would even need a velvet evening dress. Well, other than maybe wanting to feel mature? Inko didn't really understand why Mituski felt that need though; the blonde's figure was well developed, and statuesque. Inko would look ridiculous in a form-fitting red dress, partially due to her green hair making her look like a Christmas ornament and also because she wasn't tall enough to pull off long-line dresses.

Most of Inko's homemade skirts ended just at or above her knee, helping to shape her compact form. The cardigans she knit for herself were shapeless and on the larger side, woven in off-branded pastel shades that didn't clash with her hair. The more Inko thought on it, her own style was rather modest.

So how could she alter the original – already racy – design of the dress Mitsuki wanted? How could she make it, well, more Mitsuki-ish? Plus, how long would it take her to make the thing? Inko wanted to make a start on her own 'project' sooner rather than later – the longer she put it off, the less likely she would go through with her plans.

Her thoughts churned as she began to prepare dinner. The summertime heat made her crave simple food; rice with some steamed or pickled veggies, and perhaps a cool broth? Inko became so intrenched in her mind that she nearly lopped off her index finger with a wickedly sharp cooking knife.

Sighing, she shook her head and tried to focus more on what she was doing. Fat load of good she could do for the world if she deliberately hindered herself.

Dinner was a stilted affair. Her father asked no questions, merely grunted when she asked how his day had been and dumped his plate by the sink once he'd finished eating. Inko tidied up after him, and herself, before she scurried off into her room to begin making the pattern for Mitsuki's dress.

When the two teens had been carrying the fabric back to Inko's house, Mitsuki had stayed for a short while. Inko took that opportunity to take extensive measurements of her friend – she'd rather not waste time and fabric by messing it up.

The idea was to make a pattern that essentially would cut out in one piece, rather than two or three. The single cut out piece would still fold on itself – there would have to be one obvious seam, after all – but the majority of the dress would appear to be seamless. The fabric was stretchy and forgiving enough to mould to Mitsuki's form without excessive altering or darts.

Inko was thankful that the original dress had no sleeves and a strapless sweetheart neckline; she wasn't sure how she'd reverse engineer her pattern otherwise. The entire thing would meet at Mitsuki's front – that being where the obvious seam would be. Inko hoped that the alterations she was going to make to the original design went down well. From the bottom hem to the dip of Mitsuki's cleavage, a chunky, heavy-duty metal dip would bind the two loose seams together.

Mapping out her design according to Mitsuki's measurements with permanent marker and butcher's paper, Inko made sure to carefully match up the edges of the paper where the design couldn't fit onto one length. Once finally finished, Inko straightened from where she knelt in her tiny room; her back cracked loudly from how stiffly she'd held herself.

Cutting the velvet would have to wait until after school the next day. Inko wouldn't risk making a mistake if she cut it on her cramped bedroom floor. With the pattern ready to go though, it wouldn't take her too long to cut the fabric and rid the living room – the only room in the house that was spacious enough – of any mess.

The rest of the evening passed in a haze.

Inko showered, finished off her homework, and longingly pored over the drawing in her notebook. Deciding that the lined pages just weren't going to cut it, Inko rooted through the draws on her desk for a scrap piece of plain paper. The edges were slightly curled and crumpled, but it was better than the pages of a notebook anyone could flip through – at least with a single leaf of paper Inko could discreetly hide it elsewhere.

She tore out the pages of her notebook she had drew over and began transferring her sketches and hasty scribbled notes onto the plain paper. Somehow on the bland surface, the shaded sketches came alive. Inko's hands reached for the pack of coloured markers she'd bought a few years ago. Then she set to work with the black and neon green inside the packet.

Her fingers were stained with coloured ink when she finished.

* * *

Inko anxiously curled her fingers around the long sleeves of her school blazer. She was on the way home from school with Mitsuki, and the train ride seemed to take forever.

Mitsuki shifted restlessly on the bench-style seat of the train, her leg jiggling in anticipation. Inko had finished the dress. It had been left to hang inside a makeshift dress bag – otherwise known as a garbage bag Inko had made a slit in at the top to allow the coat hanger to poke through – hidden inside Inko's wardrobe just in case her father wandered into her room.

Inko doubted he would be angry at finding the dress, especially if she explained Mitsuki had asked her to make it especially. But there was something private and personal about the garment that had Inko blushing – something about it that should be kept away from prying eyes – and though Inko had yet to start her 'project' she felt the same way about it too. It was secret. Secrecy would keep her – keep it – safe, or so she thought.

The train had been packed with school kids and salarymen alike; the latter were the lucky ones allowed out of work before five in the evening. Inko just really wanted to beat the home time crush on the trains, sort out Mitsuki with her dress and send her on her way; mostly due to her father coming home, but partly because a small selfish voice inside of her cried out that it was time for her to begin her project – it cried that she'd nearly left it too long, and that her interest was dwindling and–

 _Oh._

The abrupt feeling she'd felt on that sunny afternoon had returned.

Mistuki and herself had been lucky to grab seats on the train. Other students and commuters were not so fortunate, and one business man was taking advantage of this. A girl maybe only a year or so younger than Mitsuki and Inko was trapped between her school friends and a businessman.

That sounded like the premise to a proverb or a joke, but it was neither; just plain cruel.

The business man had begun using the packed train to his advantage; the hand not holding onto the hand rails inside the train drifting from the pocket of his suit trousers and dipping lower and lower, underneath the hem of the girl's skirt. His hands were thin and slender; his fingers long like piano keys. Not only was he opportunely preying on innocent people, Inko realised, but he was also inappropriately using his Quirk too.

The high school girl stilled. Her friends were talking with quiet animation and didn't notice how the girl froze like a deer in the headlights. The man continued to invade the girl's privacy. The girl's lip wobbled, unshed tears of horror beginning to gather at the corners of her eyes. Mitsuki bristled at Inko's side, having seen the whole thing happen too; she rose from her seat as though to take action, but Inko pulled her back down.

"Just watch," Inko simply told her in return to the searing glare Mitsuki gave her.

It was times like these that Inko's Quirk could shine. She'd seen a golden band encircling the man's ring finger. He was married then, or so she assumed, and therefore should know better than to grope girls half his age on the train. Discreetly angling her index finger in the direction of the ring, Inko used the magnetism of her Quirk to yank the man's hand away from underneath the girl's skirt.

The business man yelped as though the ring had stung him and glanced suspiciously around the compartment. His eyes drifted over Mitsuki and Inko, but they were innocently chatting to one another. Inko's hands were still in her lap and Mitsuki had her arms crossed – nothing about their behaviour indicated anything remotely suspect. Thinking that he was in the clear, the man tried to assault the quivering and confused schoolgirl again. His hand contorted around his wedding ring; the finger inside the band not able to slip from the metal confines or move it as he activated his Quirk; the ring was held in place by an unknown force.

The schoolgirl breathed a sigh of relief as the man reluctantly shuffled further away from her, tutting and curling his upper lip as he did just so.

Mitsuki had to bite her lip to stop her laughter from escaping. "Fucking brilliant!"

"Language, 'Tsuki."

Mitsuki could not stop her laughter, even after the pair had exited the train at their stop.

"You've done that before, haven't you?" She exclaimed, nudging Inko's arm with her pointed elbow. It hurt a little, but Inko just smiles and rubs the store spot.

"Once or twice," Inko replied shyly, and Mitsuki's laughter hoots around the neighbourhood. Inko cringes a little. She'd hoped to quietly send Mitsuki on her way with the dress, but now the blonde is demanding Inko to regale her with stories of amateur heroics from during Inko's morning commutes.

Simple acts like these aren't anything to be fascinated with. It wasn't as though Inko was some big Hero hotshot punching the living daylights out of anyone who so much as muttered 'I'm Evil – with a capital "e"', but she did what she could discreetly to save people from the lesser known daily dangers in life.

Small and light objects could be pulled on; the string of a child's balloon as it escaped their grasp, the back of someone's jacket to prevent their fall down the train station's staircase, or even the wedding ring of a groping pervert. They were little acts that often went unnoticed, but that was how Inko preferred to help others.

"I'll tell you more in a minute," Inko placated, letting the two of them inside her home. She wanders upstairs, Mitsuki following behind eagerly. Reaching inside her wardrobe to retrieve the dress she had crafted, Inko said, "For now though, if you're going to be staying you may as well try this on. There shouldn't need to be any adjustments, but I guess it's better to check now than when you get home."

"Anyone would think you're tryin' to get rid of me," Mitsuki huffs, but takes the wrapped garment from Inko's grasp.

Inko changes the subject, saying she'll make some tea and gather some snacks together while Mitsuki changes. Her room is oddly quiet, Inko thinks, pushing open the slightly ajar door with her foot so that she doesn't jostle the tray of teacups and treats in her hands.

"Mitsuki?" Mitsuki runs her hands down the seamless sides of the dress, admiring the shape it makes against her figure in the long mirror attached to the inside door of Inko's wardrobe. Her eyes are red and puffy. "Mitsuki are you-"

"Thanks."

"What?" Inko dumps the tea tray on her desk in shock, hurrying to the blonde's side as she devolves into sobs. "Mitsuki, what's the matter?"

"It's just-" Mitsuki huffs and swipes at her eyes, "- thanks. This is better than I'd expected."

Inko jolts, "Oh, I'm glad then-"

"With this I'm going to be able to obliterate those fuckers tryin' to get in my way!" Mitsuki's yell is punctuated by her raised fists; both were held triumphantly above her head. The blonde teen's victorious expression morphs into something far more dangerous – predatory in fact. "There's no way he _won't_ notice me now. Fucker won't know what hit him!"

'hit' was punctuated by Mitsuki's fist smashing against one glycerine-soaked open palm, and Inko winces pre-emptively for whoever 'he' is. She draws her desk chair away from her desk and plops defeatedly in the seat. Inko drops her head into her hands, elbows braced firmly on her knees.

"I'm so confused right now…" She whispers. "I thought you wanted a dress to impress someone you liked?"

"Oh, I do, I do," Mitsuki wafted her hand dismissively before reaching for one of the forgotten snacks on the tea tray. "I just need to do that by winnin' the – hey, these are really nice – winnin' the audition."

"'Audition'?" Inko echoes, raising her head from her hands.

"Mm," Mitsuko affirms through a mouthful of rice cake, "I'm thinkin' of goin' into modelling."

"But-" Inko protests, and Mitsuki's eyebrows raise as though to say, 'But what?'. "You've always said you wanted to be a nurse!"

Mitsuki's face twists. A sardonic smile graces her lips as she swipes another rice cake from the tea tray. "I've not been interested in that for ages, 'Ko. We both know I've not got the patience for nursin'."

"You'd be brilliant at it though!" Inko exclaimed. "Mitsuki, I've always looked up to you because- I think that it's amazing that you were considering it and I always wanted to do more with my life! You've always been a source of inspiration for me, so why would you give up now?"

It was true that Inko had always followed Mitsuki's lead since the beginning of high school. The two girls had attended the same middle school but were the only students to transfer to a high school outside of their home district. Not many families in their area had the extra funding around to send their children to a better-resourced facility, but the school Inko and Mitsuki ended up attending wasn't exactly the best Japan had to offer. Since their first year of high school, the two had stuck together; Inko following Mitsuki's lead. The blonde always had a plan. She was always confident and ambitious; Mitsuki's actions made Inko want to be more confident – they even prompted her daydreams sometimes.

So, if Mitsuki was going to give up at the first hurdle, then was it even worth Inko going through with her plan anymore?

It would be all too easy to give up now. The fabric could be sold on discreetly or bartered for at the market – as could the leather – or she could make herself some heavy-duty clothes and get the wear out of them for the next few years. No one ever anticipated Inko would do something spectacular with her life, and she would never be a hero like those purging the world of crime who she saw in the streets or on the news. She could give up, and it would cripple her esteem altogether – even worse, no one would care or notice if anything was different.

However, a small part of Inko – buried deep down beneath the shock and hurt – was _angry_. How could Mitsuki do that to her now, after being her role model for all these years?

Inko knew it was petty and irrational of her to think like this, but in the back of her mind she thought; _fine. If Mitsuki isn't going to follow her dreams, and if she's going to settle for second-best, then_ _ **nothing**_ _is going to stop me. Maybe it's selfish of me, but I'll prove you all wrong._

"I didn't know you looked up to me that much," Mitsuki murmured, guilt flitting across her expression. "But 'Ko, I can't carry your for the rest of your life-"

 _I never asked you to._

"N-no, it's," Inko took a deep breath. "It was silly of me not to consider your feelings, and well…"

 _It was silly of me to think we could both make a difference to the world, because you've always been the same. Sometimes I feel as though you've never been my friend._

"Yeah?"

Inko's beaming smile was radiant in the afternoon light, but inside she felt hollow and raw. "I'll support you not matter what, 'Tsuki."

 _But I doubt you'd support me in return,_ Inko added in her mind.

* * *

Inko hadn't applied to any Universities – neither had Mitsuki, but that was a different matter entirely. Instead, once graduated from high school, Inko took on full time work; bouncing from one part-time shift to another, to helping around the neighbourhood, and to caring for her father and their home. He brought home less money now that he had before, and Inko was torn between quietly suffering with harsh budgeting and begging for overtime, or demanding her father smarten up his act.

She wasn't sure what he did every day to warrant a dock in pay – or perhaps he just spent the lot before she could put it towards groceries and bills.

Mitsuki, having taken the dress and fled the overly emotional scene in Inko's bedroom, had yet to show her face after their high school graduation ceremony. Inko couldn't help but feel like she'd been used, but Mitsuki wouldn't do that to her, surely?

 _Maybe she would_ , the petty, angry part of Inko whispered temptingly. _Maybe she just wanted you to build your hopes up again, like you always do._

Inko has always been one to cry in the face of danger and await rescue, and so far, Mitsuki had been there to always help. Inko's mother had been an excessive crier too, but no one had been there to help when a Villain uprooted the building she had worked in and used it as a baseball bat. No one had been there to stop other people from becoming trapped and crushed in the rubble. Inko and her crying only had themselves to blame for her dependency and weakness. There may not be a Mitsuki-figure for Inko to rely on in future after all.

In retaliation to the intrusive, persuasive thoughts in her head, Inko meticulously redesigns her costume and adds further embellishment. The special fabric she splurged on will make a full bodied, footless jumpsuit. The leather shaped and sewn into a knee length overcoat to help disguise the curves and rolls of her body on days when she felt more self-conscious. She'd have to buy a sturdy pair of boots –second hand from a thrift store, or, if she could haggle down the price, brand new from the workwear store in the nearest market street. Gloves would help to protect her hands; they were the key to using her quirk, so she'd have to shield her fingers at all costs from injury.

A mask would be necessary too, but Inko wasn't sure how to go about that. One that covered her entire face would be cumbersome; it would have to be stiff to keep to the shape of her face, and Inko's nose scrunched when she pondered the potential discomfort it would bring. A half mask to cover her eyes – like the one's worn to the masquerades Inko had seen covered in elaborate TV dramas – and then some seriously bright or weird coloured lipstick to finish off the mysterious look. She wondered what she could do about her hair, but other than a hood or styling it differently to her half-down-half-up look, Inko hoped it would be dark enough whilst she was "working" to disguise the green tint to her hair.

She wanted to be able to blend into the shadows – though that would be easy enough, she'd been following in Mitsuki's for long enough.

Nausea curled in Inko's stomach. Months ago, she would have apologised instantly – even to herself – for that comment, but now she couldn't find it in herself to do so. Mitsuki still hadn't called in, and Inko knew her modelling audition had been a few weeks ago at most.

Maybe she was just busy?

Maybe Mitsuki had decided she was better off without her plain friend?

Inko shook her head, picked up her pen, and began to annotate her costume designs; her script nice and neatly arranged in a block paragraph as she labelled the individual elements her Vigilante persona consisted of.

There was something missing though.

It had been niggling at her even as she decided to change the subtle part of the costume, such her bootlaces being swapped out for a pair that would glow in the dark, and the decision to spray paint constellations on her coat in a special luminescent paint. She'd figured out for the most part how she would use her Quirk in certain situations; she would have to train it as she crafted the pieces of her costume. There was no point going out to illegally fight crime if you had all the gear but no idea.

Inko scanned her costume plan once more. There was a blank space at the top of the page; she'd left it there especially, for when she thought up her name. It was time to decide though, and Inko popped the cap off of her black marker.

Her name was short, but hopefully it would have and make an impact.

With a little more training, a Vigilante going by the same of 'Orbit' would be making her debut soon.

* * *

Inko was extremely thankful that her father was out doing, well, whatever it was he was doing when the doorbell rang. She'd caught the harsh tang of alcohol on his breath as he uncharacteristically kissed her goodnight the night before, so it was fairly evident where the majority of his income was now disappearing to.

At this point, Inko refused to be surprised. He was a hands-off parent – always had been, but it had got worse since the funeral. Her mother had been the one to really raise Inko, until she couldn't anymore.

"I love you, Inko," her father had said the same night she'd caught his drinking habits, shambling off up the stairs in a stupor. Inko, thoroughly shocked at his words, couldn't remember the last time her father had said that to her, and she wondered why now of all times would he say it again?

But then he failed to return home, and Inko ground her teeth and willed herself to be calm because 'I love you' meant nothing anymore if it could be used as an excuse to push your daughter away from you.

It was late in the evening now. The dinner she had made was set aside on a spare plate for him, and there were leftovers in the fridge from her own dinner. Food wouldn't sit well in her roiling stomach, so Inko had pushed her plate away in disgust at the thought of eating another bite.

When the doorbell rang, Inko assumed the worst. Perhaps the police had brought her father home? Maybe it was an official – had her father been injured or caught between a Villain and a Hero's scrap? Did she owe someone money – had he got involved in shady business? But then Inko opened the door, and into the house clambered Mitsuki as if she owned the place and hadn't been absent from Inko's life for two months now.

"'Ko! The dress worked! It really worked!" Mitsuki bellowed, barrelling down the hallway towards the kitchen. Inko could only watch dumbly as Mitsuki helped herself to the leftovers. "I hope you don't mind, I've not eaten antyhin' in, like, seven hours."

Mitsuki began to babble around mouthfuls and bites of rice and pork cutlet, and Inko was yet to speak. "I can't believe it actually worked-"

"You got the job then," Inko said coolly. Mitsuki nodded. "That's… great."

Mitsuki's eyes narrowed. Glycerine shimmered on her palms, causing the Tupperware container she'd been holding to slip about between her hands. "Don't sound too happy for me then, Inko."

"I _am_ happy for you," Inko returned incredulously. "How could you think I wasn't? I'm more upset about the fact that you completely vanished for the past six weeks!"

The blonde girl's jaw stiffened, her body tensing. Mitsuki was gearing up for a fight then, Inko noted. "I was busy."

"So was I," Inko ground out, "But never once did I not worry if you were okay. If I hadn't seen you at graduation, then I would have-"

"Would have what? Followed after me like you've always done?" Mitsuki barked out a laugh. "Don't kid yourself Inko. You don't care about my wellbein', you just want to know whether you're goin' to be left all on your lonesome again."

Inko's waning patience finally snapped. She knew that she'd wound Mituski up and brought this upon herself, and that heated words said right there in the moment were often regretted later – though the blonde could hold a very long grudge.

Maybe Mitsuki was right though? Inko had depended on her a lot; she'd been the only familiar face at the new school, but Inko had thought that it was solidarity, not obligation, that prompted them to be friends in the first place. Inko wanted to scream – she wanted to hurl insults back and see if Mitsuki could take what she dished out.

Instead she squared her shoulders, straightened her back, and looked Mitsuki directly in her crimson eyes. "Get out."

The Tupperware container of leftovers was forgotten by the sink as Inko closed the door on Mitsuki's retreating back. She made it so far as the kitchen's threshold before she collapsed to her knees.

 _Calm down_ , Inko commanded herself, but the tears still fell thick and fast down her face. _Calm down – distract yourself! You don't need people like that anymore in your life. It's better if you_ _-_

The doorbell sounded once more, and Inko hurried back along the hallway. She knew Mitsuki was hot tempered, but she was also a good person deep down – perhaps she'd come to apologise already.

Inko flung the front door open with a relieved, if wobbly, smile.

It was not Mitsuki waiting on her doorstep.

The police officer removed his cap and said something to Inko that she didn't quite catch, possibly due to the muffled ringing in her ears. The officer repeated himself but Inko couldn't hear him – the rushing, ringing noise in her ears had grown louder. She shook her head wildly, she couldn't – didn't want – to hear what the police officer had to say, but he took hold of her trembling shoulders and directed her inside the house.

Her father wouldn't be returning home that night. Or any other night.

A week later, Inko placed his ashes alongside her mother's: and despite it being in her family's nature, Inko could no longer bring herself to cry.

* * *

 **[1]** May I direct you to,

Galeon, Dom, and Abby Norman, 'Researchers Create Soft, Flexible Material That's 5 Times Stronger Than Steel' _,_ _futurism . com_ (July 20, 2017)

/researchers-create-soft-flexible-material-thats-5-times-stronger-than-steel/

 **[2]** Was doing some really dodgy Maths for this. There's 'supposedly' 39 Yards on a standard roll of fabric, which is equivalent thereabouts to 36 Metres. Lets say the cost is £6/M, so £216 in total. Inko's total comes to roughly ¥32,942. I think that can be considered cheap, especially since I've seen a metre of fabric go for about £12 before. One metre. Just one. Sewing is an expensive hobby, okay? Sales are your friend, as are thrift stores.


	2. Chapter 2

**ORBIT**

* * *

 _2_

* * *

The house had been too big of a property for her to maintain on her own, so throughout the remainder of the summer months, Inko boxed up old clothing and textiles and sent them off to the charity shop. She kept the main things in the house that she'd one day need for her own; the kotatsu, spare futons, kitchen utensils and household appliances not usually provided when one moved into a new apartment. These were the sort of items that were costly to buy separately or in a panic when you couldn't locate your own. The rest of the stuff in the house that she wasn't taking with her, Inko either gave away or sold on.

She wouldn't need a lawn mower where she was moving to. She'd have a small balcony and a communal garden area to look at – but the latter was maintained by the landlord or those in the ground floor apartments. She sold her father's car – Inko doubted she'd ever learn to drive – and then she sold their house too. The proceeds of the sale had not garnered as much as the estate agent had anticipated, but there was enough money left after resolving other costs for Inko to live comfortably for a few years, so long as she supplemented her savings with part time work.

With her meagre possessions and a couple of rolls of uncut fabric she'd bought months before, Inko settled into her new – unfamiliar – apartment. She was well and truly alone now.

Since her argument with Mitsuki she'd not see or heard from the blonde teen. Then the funeral and moving and _life_ had taken hold, and Inko was barely keeping her head above high water now – whereas before she'd been going about wading through her days. Inko should have at least told Mitsuki what was going on, and that she would be moving, but she never had mustered up the courage nor any time to do so. Everything had just happened so fast; like a raging torrent had swept her up and had yet to deposit Inko at the shore.

The new apartment's walls were suddenly restricting her, stifling – no, drowning her – and Inko's feet all but flew her to the front entrance. She roughly pulled on her battered sneakers, grabbed her keys, and sprinted out of the door.

Inko didn't stop running until her legs gave out and the world stopped spinning, and then, with her head somewhat clearer, she ran some more.

"You're getting damn fast," one of Inko's neighbours told her. He was an elderly gentleman; he had potted plants sitting by his front door and hanging from his balcony at the back of the apartment complex.

She only knew him as 'Mr Takiyama', but he'd been pleasant enough when they'd first met (when Inko near bowled him over in a desperate attempt to flee the confines of her apartment), and he liked to check in on her every so often. She didn't judge him for the plants, even though the amount Mr Takiyama owned was excessive. The apartments were already grim, so why take away the only splash of colour?

"Thank you," Inko panted, folding over breathlessly as she continued her cool down. For a few weeks, when the world and all her problems became too much to bear, Inko would run. The distance she ran increased, even as her problems slowly began to lift from where they weighted down her shoulders.

"Any reason why you're always running?" Mr Takiyama inquired.

 _Because I run from my problems. Because I need the space. Because I need to train my body, so I don't get caught and_ _ **arrested**_ _._

Heaving for breath, Inko replied between gasps; "I… just… want to get… into… shape. Let… myself… go recently."

"Understandable," Mr Takiyama returned, and though his expression told Inko that he didn't quite believe her, he still pleasantly bid her good day. It set Inko's nerves on edge; maybe he had some kind of empathy Quirk, or a strain of psychic power? Did he know what she was planning to do?

Mr Takiyama returned a few hours later with his shopping bags in tow, knocking on her door and disturbing Inko while she was trying (and failing) to orderly stack books and other bits and bobs on a bookcase. She was still in the process of unpacking and rearranging things in her apartment even over a month after she'd moved. Her frequent extended runs probably contributed to the delay, but now her nerves were shot, and she couldn't concentrate at all on the task. Still, Mr Takiyama didn't seem to mind the mess when she invited him in. He said he had something for her.

"For when you run," he said, handing over the gift, and Inko nearly collapsed in a relieved heap. He hadn't reported her then.

The gift had been bundled in a plastic bag – one that was marked with the logo from where he'd bought it probably. "Don't worry about paying me back, I don't want your money. Just make sure you get your wear out of it."

Inko untangled the plastic bag, hands delving inside to retrieve Mr Takiyama's gift. What she pulled out resembled a sweatband, except instead of the fluffy towelling material used for the aforementioned this armband was smooth. It was of an obnoxiously bright green colour, with a zip slicing across most of the band an inch away from the top edge.

 _It has a pocket_ , her mind supplied as she ran her thumb over the zip's teeth.

"You can put your keys in there, and other bits," Mr Takiyama continued. "Don't want them falling out of your pocket when you run, and they're always safer tucked away from where anyone can reach. My daughter got me something similar a few years ago; don't go anywhere without it now."

"Thank you," Inko breathed, sliding the band up her left arm until it comfortably settled just above her elbow. Somehow, a response to her gratefulness didn't quite register on Mr Takiyama's face. The elderly gentleman looked torn between pride over his gifting choice, and a stomach-curdling display of antipathy.

Mr Takiyama – though altogether pleasant with his neighbours – was a gruff old man, or so had Inko learnt. Nobody had come to visit him in all the weeks Inko had been situated in her apartment, which she found odd. Nevertheless, she made sure she didn't leave the house to run without her armband pouch ever again, and later subtly inquired as to where she could buy more of them. If Mr Takiyama was totally alone (just like her), then it would be best to show her appreciation for his gift.

Inko had phrased her question as though she was worried about having to constantly wash the sweaty armband, and that having multiple ones would be more efficient. What she was really thinking however, was that in the case of her not wearing complementary coat to her costume – say during summer when a coat was redundant – Inko could easily place her necessary belongings in the zip-up pouch section of the band.

Aside from running, Inko's training was slowly gaining intensity. She had known since her Quirk manifested that she could draw small objects towards her, but outside of using her power for menial tasks or discreetly helping strangers, Inko wasn't sure how much she could actually do with her Quirk beyond simple Telekinesis.

The first stage of her training, aided by the mess she'd made in trying to unpack her things, was discovering the limitations. Would she only be able to pick one larger than normal item up at a time? Could she lift multiple small things? Was it possible to move these objects outside of drawing them towards her? Could she rotate them around her, using her body as the main attracting force– as her Vigilante name implied?

Inko began experimenting soon after these questions bombarded her thoughts. Multiple small objects were the easiest for her control – and by multiple, she meant far too many for the eye to comprehend so long as they were incredibly light. She had learnt this the hard way once when unpacking her sewing equipment. A large tub of beads spilled out of the container they should have been in; the lid having come loose during the move. The weight of them, even when combined, was miniscule, but if directed properly they could cause a lot of damage.

Thousands of beads filled the air around her, pulled into a swirling mass that hovered about Inko's hips like a hula hoop she'd seen on of the neighbour's children playing with earlier that the day. With a flick of her wrist, Inko sent the glittering hoard sharply away from her body – they crashed into a nearby carboard box, tearing through the material from sheer force.

From this alone, Inko had discovered that items she caught with her Quirk, but didn't necessarily pull towards her, would wait in motion. She could direct the beads to come to her, but could not push them away – whenever she tried, they would divert onto a circular track, orbiting her body. This was how the carboard box had been destroyed; caught in the crossfire of Inko pushing the beads away and them righting themselves in return.

Inko bought herself a nice assorted set of glass and metal beads that corresponded to the colours of her costume the next day. She piled them in a small pouch next to the rest of the equipment she'd amassed for her costume.

Slowly, she proceeded to up the weight of the items she attracted with her quirk; creating what had to be the weirdest mundane asteroid field as she pottered about the house, collecting more items as she went. Kitchen utensils, a few cheesy paperback romance novels, pencils, sewing needles, hair pins, a small pot of hand cream, and numerous stray socks made for a floating field of things that gaped more than Inko would have liked. They weren't uniform sizes though unlike the beads, so it was to be expected; but they still helped Inko to refine how she individually worked with different materials. It also taught her that she could pull almost anything towards her within reason.

The exception being anything over the weight of three or so breezeblocks. **[1]** While that was Inko's limit for the moment, it was reassuring to know that if she came across a child or an incredibly light person who needed help, she would be able to pull them out of harm's way. As she learnt all of this, and worked towards upping her weight limit, she made calculated stitches on her costume. The leather overcoat was nearly ready, with just the jumpsuit and embellishments to focus on next.

For the first time in months, Inko felt as though she was finally getting somewhere. Her runs were extending to the point where she still had energy to spare. She no longer felt as though the world was collapsing around her, or as though she was up to her neck in rushing water. The apartment walls were beginning to feel like home now she'd put her stamp on things – like the slight dimpling in the plasterboard where she'd misfired her quirk. The beads, under her command once more, had been slightly off their mark and flew past the carboard target towards the wall. Inko sorely hoped that the landlord wouldn't notice; she'd done her best to hide the damage by sticking a poster over it and would have to look into a more permanent disguise or some wall-filler.

With every stitch and every running stride she made, Inko kept on pushing forwards. Three months after the big move Inko started to wander through the neighbourhood outside of her running route and trips to the shops. She stopped to chat with a few people she met on the street, pet a few dogs out for their afternoon walks, and scoped out the local community centre.

She was glad she did; there were a few self-defence and martial arts classes starting soon. Inko put her name down for as many as possible – most of the classes opened with two sessions completely free before they required a membership to continue them. She had more than enough money to cover the costs though, and as Orbit any scrap of knowledge and physical conditioning would help her along on her way.

Her jumpsuit was nearly finished. Inko had bought the luminescent spray paint and even a set of glow in the dark star-shaped stickers to place in her pouch which she'd found in the local craft store. She thought that if she ever helped a child – or even an adult, who was Inko to exclude anyone from the joy of glow in the dark stickers? – she'd offer them one, as a reminder that she'd saved them.

Heroes often had phrases, poses, costume-colours and quirks outside of their actual Quirks that made them noticeable. Stars and space would be Inko's calling card. The stickers would shine bright for a time even in the darkest of rooms; it was a reminder that she would be there, even after her deed was done and whomever she had helped was safe.

Before she knew it, she'd bought the rest of the necessary items – boots, and an adult's Hero-themed party mask that she'd dyed black – and had sewn in the last stitch she would ever have to make (unless her costume was destroyed in action). It was now time to think about patrols and schematics. Until Inko had sorted a route and an area she wished to protect, how could she even think about prancing about in her jumpsuit and coat?

Inko hadn't earned that right yet; outside of designing and making everything, the whim of becoming a Hero existed in Inko solely as a method of spiting those who said she could not. It had all been a very elaborate daydream – Inko had mapped out her idea in the same way people designed Manga and Anime characters. She had inserted herself in a role that she wasn't quite fit for nor entitled to, with little thought about the actual logistics.

She'd seen one documentary on TV before now – Hero-obsessed society often liked to further explain proceedings, and frequent shows of the same ilk were presented on prime-time television with the likes of soap operas. Unlike the countless other one's that Inko hadn't taken note of during her high school years, this particular documentary had made her stop and think.

It was part of a campaign to encourage children into Heroics. There had been an unnatural decrease in enrolment into Hero Academies across the country, so television producers and the Central Hero Agency (the governing body for Japan's Heroes that went about overseeing the individual Hero Agencies around the country) had collaborated on an in-depth two-hour long feature that clearly depicted the ins and outs of a Heroes daily life.

Apparently some up-coming Hero-bloke by the codename 'Endeavour' had been plugged for the job, but at the last moment the Hero the cameras had been commanded to follow had changed. Inko couldn't remember the name, or the nuances of the replacement Hero's costume; his kind smile and eyes were all that remained in her mind.

The cameras had led viewers though patrols, paperwork, publicity stunts and even a little bit of action. The Hero had been pushed into a situation where he, with the aid of a Vigilante who had also been working on that particular lead, took down a Villain as an impromptu team. The fight had ended with both the Villain and the Vigilante incarcerated.

Inko had never bothered to check whether the Vigilante was still behind bars to this day, or what the woman's name had been.

She swallowed harshly, shaking her head at the memories. That had been one glaringly obvious thing Inko had overlooked. Vigilantism was considered to be an illegal offence, and anyone caught in the act was liable to be prosecuted and held within a cell for the rest of their days.

Vigilante's were considered to be the busy-bodies of society. Not good enough or even qualified to be Heroes, but somehow considered worse than 'underground' crime fighters – and every now and then Villains. Vigilante's had no moral code to prescribe to; they either ran by their own rules or hadn't been formally taught to ascribe to what was right or wrong in society. That, or they detested the system altogether.

Inko had no such qualms. Sure, the Hero in pursuit of the Villain that had inadvertently killed her mother probably could have done more to stop the offender before they took hold of the building Inko's mother was in and brandished it like a club. Maybe the Hero could have tried a softer approach, or they could have ended the fight before it escalated into further carnage.

But it was over and done with, and there was nothing Inko could do to bring her mother – both of her parents, in fact – back.

Her own views, therefore, were unopinionated nor refined should she have to enter a debate on whether what she was doing was morally wrong. That was the way she hoped it would stay also. In her view, Inko believed that anyone could do a little good in the world; Doctors, Nurses, Police Officers, Fire Fighters, even random Samaritans off the street were capable of doing good deeds every day. Heroes just filled the gulf between what the aforementioned could do and the ridiculously dangerous – sort of like a specialised force who could deal with exemptions the average person could not.

Did that make a Doctor or a good Samaritan any less of an asset when compared to a Hero? No, absolutely not. The Hero just stood in the limelight more often, and society often overlooked those who worked just as hard behind the scenes.

So why was there such an upheaval about Vigilantes?

Weren't the first Quirk users who decided to put their powers to use for good strikingly similar to an individual who decided going it alone instead of undergoing extensive training and obtaining a licence? There had to have been some speculation about mutant forces trying to right the world through skewed interpretations of justice.

 _But I don't want to change the world_ , Inko decided. _I just want to help._

There would be no grand scheme in the works to collapse Hero Society, nor a message Inko wanted to convey to the masses. She just wanted to be out there, doing something with her life. If that meant aiding others in their time of need – whether the matter was serious or considered trivial by some – she was willing to do just so. She needed to in order to prove her point. To prove that Inko Midoriya would amount to something other than yet one more bland-looking face in the crowd, working nine to five six days a week.

All she needed now was an area to focus on, but Inko had no idea as to which place would be best. She required a section of the surrounding neighbourhood that wasn't already patrolled by a legitimate Hero, nor an area so entrenched in villainous activity that she's be found beaten half to death in an alley at the end of her first patrol. Inko's potential patrol route needed to close enough to home that she could make it there without drawing suspicion, but also far enough away from her apartment block that said suspicion didn't follow her home.

It was mindboggling. Every consecutive thought that occurred shortly after she'd found the solution to the one before it sent Inko spiralling into further disarray and worry.

What would happen if she was caught – well, prison, most likely. But what if it wasn't the authorities who captured her? What if it was the colleagues of a Villain she brought down instead?

Inko tugged on the ends of her hair in worry. She was getting nowhere trying to plan this by herself. Did Vigilantes set up a network of trusted people before they went to work? Associates they'd stumbled across who aided people of a similar occupation, or even friends who could be entrusted with another person's life?

Inko had none of those. She had thought about Mitsuki, about extending the metaphorical olive branch and slotting herself back into the blonde's life, but stubbornly Inko wouldn't allow herself to do it. Mitsuki had made it plainly clear – as had she for not running after her so-called best friend like a lost puppy – that there was no need for Inko to be in Mitsuki's life. The feeling was, regrettably, mutual.

With no one else left, Inko turned to the one and only Mr Takiyama for help. Just as with the exterior of the man's home, the inside was crammed to the rafters with plants of various shapes and sizes. The nostalgic smell, one which Inko could only label 'Greenhouse', hit her almost instantly as Mr Takiyama gestured for her to come inside.

"I've been taking some self-defence classes," Inko told him. "This neighbourhood seems pretty safe, but I'm unfamiliar with it and well…"

"Whatever gets you not-mugged," Mr Takiyama huffed, running his gnarled hands over the corduroy fabric of his trousers.

Inko smiled blithely. "Exactly. But, well, is there anywhere in this area that's sketchy at all?"

Mr Takiyama's bushy eyebrows rose questioningly.

"Just so I can know to avoid it!" Inko clarified, waving her hands frantically in front of her.

Mr Takiyama didn't seem convinced at all but relented the information eventually. Inko's elderly neighbour stood from his comfy wing-back armchair, groaning a little as his knees clicked. He shuffled his way to a nearby dresser, rooting though the draws until he found exactly what he was looking for.

"My Quirk means I don't really have to rely on these often," he said, handing Inko a thickly folded scrap of patterned paper. "And technology these days made my job pretty redundant. The trees work as my navigation system, not some jumped-up robotic voice. It was handy when I was driving for a living – never had to stop for directions."

What Mr Takiyama had handed Inko was a map. A severely outdated one, but a map nonetheless. The outer, once-glossy printed casing surrounding it was torn and faded, but Inko could still read the lettering. It contained the layout of the local area and the surrounding prefectures.

"Musutafu is one place I hate to go in. It's all tower blocks and city builds – not enough green if you ask me," Mr Takiyama continued, his tone growing grumpier. "The central bit is better; Villains don't tear it up the same, because the Heroes don't let them get close. Rough around the edges though. Other than that, this place doesn't see any serious action."

"Right," Inko said. "May I keep this?"

Mr Takiyama waved his hand dismissively. "I ain't got no use for it now."

They exchanged pleasantries for a short while until Inko got the impression it was time she left. Before Mr Takiyama closed the door on her, he narrowed his eyes at the teen.

"I don't know what you're up to, with all this unsafe neighbourhood business," he said. "But whatever it is, don't do anything stupid."

"I won't," Inko told him. The lie tasted stale in her mouth even before it had left her tongue.

* * *

Mr Takiyama's old map was now proudly splayed across the main wall of her living room – the same wall she'd made heavy dimples in with her Quirk. Held at each corner with a pin she'd had to gently nail into the wall with a heavy hardback book, Inko admired the local geography and her handiwork. Her next action was to take a thick red marker pen and circle the area she was going to conduct her work in as well as her route.

Mr Takiyama had been right, Musutafu was a rough neighbourhood. At least, by the edges of that district which didn't receive the same attention as the centre. The National News didn't report on it quite the same, but local radio stations, Hero feeds, and newspapers indicated a lot of minor disturbances and issues that flew under the radar of better known Pro Heroes.

Underground Heroes – the one's who preferred to just _do_ and not be seen or heard – were the ones to take care of most of these cases, but a lot went unacknowledged. Perfect for Orbit, Inko concluded. A few small fry that would prove a bit of a challenge until she'd cut her teeth on this whole Vigilante scheme. Then she could rise up the threat level; climbing higher the more she improved.

There were no Police stations situated nearby, so Inko would need to knock her opponents out should she wish to detain them. Carrying lengths of rope – for which she wouldn't be reimbursed – was costly and impractical. She'd thought about using zip ties or a spool of gardening wire, but with enough strength behind the action both could be misshapen or snapped through. Handcuffs were niche and expensive, and should authorities turn up before Inko could retrieve the cuffs, her cover would be blown. Plus, the only unsuspicious place Inko could purchase them from would be an 'Adult' store, and she severely doubted they would be of a suitable Villain-detaining grade.

There was also an issue with notifying the Police or Heroes of her recent takedown. A disposable phone would be useful, but it could also be tracked. Inko couldn't depend on leaving it in a random area either – it could be handed in, stolen, lost to the elements, or she could even forget where she had hidden the device.

Spare change would be a necessary thing to carry with her in her pouches then, so that she could use public phones. Or she would have to rely on a passing member of the public or businesses that were still open in the dead of night to call in someone to collect the Villains.

With her plan of action somewhat decided, Inko believed her next step to walk around the area she was going to patrol during the day when it was somewhat safer. She slipped on her shoes, made sure to slide a few of her armband pouches up her arm – disguised by the sleeve of her jumper – and set off.

The nights were growing shorter and darker more quickly now, as late summer faded in Autumn. The earth and the buildings surrounding Inko as she walked still retained some of the sun's warmth, so it wasn't as chilly as it could have been. It was, all in all, still safe to be walking around so late into the evening.

Mr Takiyama's map was unlikely to move from where Inko had pinned it to the wall, so it wasn't as though she could have took it with her on her walk. The signs that she was bordering on the edges of Musutafu Ward were clear to see – even after thirty minutes of brusque walking.

Gone were the neatly trimmed hedges of the Inko's neighbourhood, the well-kept lawns, and pleasant smiling faces of passers-by. The paved streets were becoming increasingly dirtier – mottled with hairline cracks, patch jobs in the concrete and tarmac, and the odd scorch mark.

She waved to one of the neighbour's children – a low voice in the back of her head wondering whether it was too late and not safe to let a child of his age play so far away from home – and the child's friend. They waved back, flinging the small plastic carrier bags they held in the air as they did. Perhaps Usagi's mother had sent both boys on an errand, or the other child's parents. It was plausible, but Inko couldn't help but feel a little uneasy even though Usagi was on his way back.

If she ever had a child, Inko decided, she'd never let them out of her sight. She wouldn't want any harm to come to them at all. Then again, if her own child developed a Quirk like Usagi's – the boy looked like someone had spliced a rabbit's head onto his body – then maybe she wouldn't have to worry so much. Even in today's society where almost everything was accepted, some Quirks were looked down upon. Usagi's was unnerving, to say the least; the construct of his body really didn't mesh with his fluffy ears and snout.

(Inko suspected he had a little cotton tail too.)

The further Inko walked, the worse Musutafu got. Then, suddenly, the road evened out, the buildings and establishments appeared less tired and dingy (the shutters kept open for longer, because it was safer for these store owners to have them just so while Heroes patrolled overhead). Inko had walked too far then.

She began to double back on herself to the last dodgy alleyway she had seen close to where she'd seen Usagi and his cohort. Maybe it would cut through to even grottier areas at the edge of Musutafu that Orbit could work her interstellar-themed magic on?

Following the alley as closely as possible, Inko felt her pace quicken as a child's yell filled the air. _Usagi._ She knew that scream anywhere – the boy was often overexuberant and she could hear his cries outside whenever he played.

She burst around the corner, expecting the worst. It wasn't as bad as Inko had been expecting, but still, she'd found herself in quite the predicament. Young Usagi and his friend were clamped in the grips of two burly men; Usagi seemed to be putting up a fight, but his friend hung limply in his accoster's meaty fists. A third, weedier looking individual was fiddling with the lowered shuttered entrance to some sort of backstreet garage or warehouse.

The building was nondescript; no signage, recognisable markings, or other trades surrounding it. If not for Inko's own intention of walking through the alleyway and her uncanny timing she'd most likely have never noticed it.

That would have to change. What use was there trying to by a pseudo-Hero if you couldn't notice anything was wrong? Yes, her danger senses had pinged at the thought of two grade school children wandering round shortly before their bedtime, but that was common sense surely and not the mythical Hero-instinct.

Many Heroes were reported to have done the same thing before their debut; they had to act when something felt or went wrong before them. It was an impulsive, an obsessive need to save someone or something. It was also highly foolish, but of course, the general public didn't see it that way.

Maybe it was because Inko hadn't sat through three years of Hero training, or because Orbit wouldn't operate in the same manner as a Pro Hero, but she couldn't see herself barging blindly into action. She had to plan every move, place down her steps as carefully as she had the stitches sewn into the fabric of her jumpsuit. While her beads would move in tandem – like a summer swarm of bees – individual movement was something she would have to focus on intently in order to direct them.

The man holding Usagi stiffened, turning his neck as well as he could with thick cords of muscle restricting the movement to look over his shoulder. Thankfully, his stilted movement gave Inko enough time to dive behind a conveniently placed dumpster. Strength and muscle augmentation Quirks could have their downsides. After a few quiet, collective breaths, she peaked her head around the edge of her hiding spot.

"Hurry up already," the man – well, at the time Inko had assumed it was the man. Unlike his beefy cohort, the persona holding onto Usagi's friend wobbled about like the pudding cups you could buy at convenience stores. There was an unhealthy tint to their skin – sickly yellows and green – and a near translucence through which Inko could see beyond what their body was blocking.

Could she assume they were Villains then? They looked the part… kind of. Honestly, if Inko was being frank, they looked unorganised and mismatched as group; like the small-time, poorly acted thugs you saw making appearances on high school themed dramas. Someone had forced the Villain holding Usagi's friend into a suit; the bloated, sickly skin of their body had begun to leak.

"What's taking so long," the same Villain complained. "I'm dying to take this suit off."

It did look rather tight.

Finally, the wimpier of the three ceased his dithering and managed to raise the shutters wide enough for them to duck inside. Inko was moving before the last captive was dragged underneath the shutters – pelting down the alley like a woman possessed.

As she flung herself under the shutters stomach first, all she could think was 'Is this what Heroes feel? Because I absolutely hate it.'

There was a brief sense of relief within her at not being trapped by the lowering shutter, surprise at how quickly she'd moved, a little elation at how Usagi's face lit up when he saw her, and then nothing.

* * *

The next time Inko came to she found herself within a cage.

"Miss Inko," came a quiet hiss. "Miss Inko are you awake?"

"What happened," she whimpered, hands idly reaching to an extremely sore spot on her head.

"They smacked you one, Miss Inko," Usagi explained, miming the action as best he could in the cage's cramped confines. "I was sorta happy you'd come after us but passing out was really lame."

Inko snorted, wincing at the way it jolted her head. "I'll try not to next time then."

Would there even be a next time? Who knew what was going to happen next, or if Inko could so anything about it. She had her pouches, but her mind felt fuzzy – her eyes coming in and out of focus like a camera lens. Could she even take on three unknown assailants by herself?

No. She couldn't. Not yet anyway. The varied self-defence classes she'd taken had taught their students how to get oneself out of trouble and away from it, not how to instigate a battle. So, if Inko couldn't pick a fight could she distract them?

It was a long shot, but if she could occupy their attention with something to the point when the three Villains turned on themselves, maybe she could push for an escape? Or for time for an escape. She'd spied a landline phone attached to the wall adjacent to where the cage was situated. The cage itself only had a simple padlock, and Inko made a mental note to look into lockpicking for future emergencies; she'd now have to try and locate and levitate a single key towards her.

"Usagi, are you alright?" She asked, feeling her attention sharper slightly through the pain. "Did they do anything to you? Is your friend hurt?"

"I'm okay, Miss Inko. Taka doesn't look too good though," the rabbit-boy replied, worrying at his long ears.

Inko sat further upright from where she had been slumped in the corner of the cage, leaning around Usagi to take a look at the other child trapped alongside them. Taka's downy black hair and razor sharp beak were nothing out of the ordinary – you saw all sorts of transformative Quirks on the streets these days – but the clammy pallor of his skin and beadings sweat were a cause for concern.

"Did they give Taka anything?"

Usagi's long rabbit ears dropped; the tips brushing the slender slope of his shoulders. "They tried to give him some candy, but he bit one of those guys' hands and then they just gave him a shot-"

Inko intervened before the child could spiral into a panic, "Okay, that's great. Thank you for letting me know Usagi, it was very brave of you!"

Both children had animalistic mutant Quirks then, and Inko was trapped with them purely due to her own stupidity. Why hadn't she just doubled back to the street and borrowed someone's phone? She only had limited bits of equipment on her, no Hero suit, and apparently a subliminal burning desire to get herself killed before she could make a difference.

If her head wasn't splitting from pain, then Inko would have slammed it, repeatedly, against the cage's bars.

"Okay," she muttered. "Okay, think. Think Inko."

"Be quiet!" One of the Villains bellowed. It was the sound of the shout that made both Usagi and herself startle; there was no malice within it.

The trio of crooks were squatting around a makeshift table, sat atop anything that could pass for a chair. Another thing that irritated her slightly was the fact that the trio had pilfered their captives plastic bags; the weedy one was nibbling on whatever snack Usagi and Taka had bought shortly before they'd been snatched off the street.

Inko blinked. They'd just kidnapped two children and added a woman into the mix, so how on earth could they calmly be playing cards and snacking at a time like this? Sure, waiting for whatever stage came next in your evil masterplan might have been boring, but if Inko was new to this whole Vigilante thing _they_ had to be one of the most inexperienced Villain trio's in Musutafu she had the misfortune to cross.

 _That could work in my favour_ , she thought slyly.

"Usagi," she whispered. "Usagi I need you to be really brave-"

"Like Endeavor?"

"Um…" Not the example she would have chosen, but sure, why not? "Yes, just like Endeavor. I need you to be really brave and look after Taka – he looks really poorly yes?"

Usagi nodded. "I can do that."

"Now, does anyone know that you were out?" She inquired. Surely someone had to worried about two missing children? Inko couldn't be sure what time it was now, but she'd been wandering around Musutafu in the late evening. The temperature had dropped quite a bit at this point, indicating that it was far later now than she'd anticipated.

"Taka's Ma does. I was sleeping over at his house, and we were out playing in the park. S'posed to be back at half seven, but Taka said we should go exploring instead of sleeping," Usagi informed her, facial fur flushing as pink as the curling tips of his hair (really, it was a dual toned patch of floof between his ears) at being caught doing something parents would consider naughty. Curfew's were there for a reason when you were young, but obviously Taka had no qualms for rules.

"Okay. Okay," Inko repeated to herself. Her mind was racing, and the repetition of simple words helped to ground her a little. "Someone's got be out looking for you then. That's good."

There was the possibility that Taka's mother wasn't all that fussed over her son going missing; either Taka was a handful of a child, or his mother wasn't great at enforcing rules. Therefore Inko couldn't rely on someone – a Hero or the Police – coming to rescue them. She had no idea what the Villain's next moves would be, or when they would happen.

Inko had no choice but to act. Waiting could be disastrous for all of them.

"Usagi, I think I'm going to have to try and get rid of those guys with my Quirk," Inko told the boy.

"But you can't do that!" Usagi yelped, and the Villains shushed them once more. Quietly, Usagi added, "You're not a Hero, it's too dangerous Miss Inko."

"I know that Usagi, but we can't wait for Pros to turn up," Inko returned. They'd been waiting for far too long now, if Inko's gut feeling and the hours she had lost while unconscious were anything to go by.

These Villains weren't the best, but they'd organised an attempt to traffic animalistic Quirks before – perhaps not in Musutafu, but another region of Japan. They had smartened themselves up in matching cheap suits, worked together in a unit, and had anaesthetics to inject into unwilling targets. Someone had to be orchestrating a much larger project, or supplying the trio sat around the table. Plus, the cage Inko was in was battered; scratch marks lined the inside and several bars were dinted. Inko had wondered if she could exploit those weaknesses – try and tug the bars towards her and make a wider gap – but she'd likely end up pulling the whole cage backwards instead.

Reaching up her sleeve slowly and trying her best not to attract the Villain trio's attention, Inko felt up her arm for the zip on her armband pouch. She tugged on the fixing slowly, thankful for the way her jumper muffled most of the unzipping noise. She jiggled her arm gently, and out from the pouch spilled a wave of beads. Small beads, large beads, sharp beads, metal beads.

Usagi looked positively affronted. His ears had pricked up at the sound of the tinkling beads hitting the floor, but now the rabbit-boy's snout had crumpled sullenly. "What are you going to do with them? Make em' friendship bracelets until they die?"

"You're mouthy for a grade schooler," Inko returned waspishly, her patience (something she'd prided herself for before her spat with Mitsuki) running thin. From previous interactions she'd learnt the boy was the hyper sort – he never seemed to put down his hula hoop – but Inko hadn't expected the sass. Sass from a child with a bunny rabbit Quirk of all things. "Just watch."

With a flick of her fingers, the beads were away, just skimming the floor as they sped across the floor in a wide arc. Inko worked her fingers as though she was conducting an orchestra consisting solely of craft materials, letting them down gently on the ground once they'd totally surrounded the Villains.

"Now," Inko smiled, "We make some noise."

"But what if they–"

"Just trust me, okay? We need to get Taka out of here so the Doctors can figure out what they've given him." The beaked child was looking paler by the minute; daubs of sweat lining his brow had morphed into a thick, liquid, sheen across the exposed sections of his skin.

Usagi gulped. He looked to his friend, resting his hand (weirdly, Usagi only had the rabbit ears, snout, and eerily red eyes from the effects of his Quirk – no paws in sight) on Taka's shoulder before recoiling in horror as the sweat transferred to Usagi's finger tips.

"Gross," Usagi muttered. He nodded to Inko. "I can make lots of noise. Ma says she couldn't get me to shut up as a baby."

"Think you could show me how it's done?" Inko prompted.

Usagi, who really should have been quaking in his boots over being kidnapped, took Inko's prompt as a challenge. "Just watch me," he told her smugly, before opening his mouth and _screaming_.

"Shut up!" The thickly-necked Villain cried, pushing himself away from their makeshift table; the crate he'd been using as a chair scraping against the concrete floor.

Inko waited for him to plant his feet firmly – right on top of her beads, which, due to his thickly soled boots, the Villain didn't feel – then tugged at the beads once more; pulling them out from under the Villain the same way one would tug a rug out from underneath someone's feet. The result was instantaneous. The Villain toppled over comically, hands and arms wafting like the blades on a windmill as he tried to regain his balance. There was only one way it could end though, and down he fell, cracking the back of his head against the crate he had been sitting on only moments before.

Inko almost winced in sympathy, her own head still throbbing from where the Villains had hit her before. Usagi continued to scream, and Inko felt the headache she'd already gained progressively get more intense. The weedier Villain must have shared the same sentiment, as he clamped his hands over his ears.

Inko mustered up control of her beads once more, making them gather in a thin whip-like line and wrap around the aforementioned Villain; they circled his skin, tighter and tighter, the more she tried to push that section of orbiting beads away. He writhed upon discovering his arms and legs were clamped; the beads could be plenty uncomfortable to stand on (Inko had learnt that the hard way,) and had to be chafing his skin. Inko had forced the beads to wind tighter, not taking the chance of him escaping should she loose focus for a second and the beads loosening.

Usagi halted his ear-piercing cries momentarily. "Okay, that's kind of cool Miss Inko."

Then the screaming resumed.

Unlike her father, who's vision was blurred continuously through reluctance of going to see the Optometrist and his own drinking habits, Inko's own eyesight was for the most part fine. She was having trouble locating the key to their cage however – the blow to her head had made everything fuzzy.

The third Villain – the one who looked as though he was spilling out of his own skin – wobbled precariously over to Usagi and Inko. He'd noticed her eyes skimming over her surroundings, his hands delving inside the layer of gunk outlining his body.

"Looking for this?" He grinned, holding aloft a slime-slicked key. He kicked the cage, ankle bending back on itself from the force.

Usagi's screaming died into a whimper. The Villain's body, now that Inko took a closer look, appeared to be severely broken already. Joints and major bones didn't sit they way there were intended to underneath his flesh, and an itinerary of mottle bruises that Inko hadn't noticed before littered his skin. The slime acted as a convincing coating to the Villain's damaged body.

Hollow unseeing eyes and a mouth that resembled that of a felt puppet's – exaggerated wide actions and mis-matched lip movements to what was being expressed vocally – watched and laughed as Usagi shuffled closer to Inko. The boy's hand latched on to his friend also, wishing to drag him closer to Inko's comforting side but lacking the strength to do so.

"Nice try," the Villain commended snidely. "But let's see what you'll do after this."

Then he swallowed the key, gunk spilling from his gaping mouth as he forced the cut metal down his gullet. Inko thought momentarily whether it was worth traumatising young Usagi and simply pulling the key straight through the Villain's bloated flesh with her Quirk.

A quick glance to the quaking boy made her shoulders slump. Usagi had been putting a brave face on for her, and she was sure that most of his screaming had stemmed from his terror – not him simply being a brat. Inko sighed, knowing that she couldn't put Usagi through any more upset.

It was concerning her how easily she'd thought of tearing a Villain apart to get what she wanted. Inko Midoriya wasn't sure if she liked the person she was becoming, or whether she had always been this violent. Years upon years of being an afterthought, of walking in Mitsuki's shadows (even though the blonde had assured Inko she was not), had been repressed. Ever so slowly, these hidden depths of her personality were emerging into the light.

All it had taken was her having nothing worth caring about anymore to unleash what lay within.

The more she contemplated on this, with the Villain smirking at her triumphantly, brokenly toeing the limp beads at his feet, Inko knew she wouldn't escape from this situation with violence as her intention. It would be too messy. Self defence would earn her a slap on the wrist but tearing a Villain apart before two children was for a start going to be incredibly messy for everyone involved, and secondly very illegal even for a Pro Hero.

The Villain staggered back to his seat, eying his still bound cohort. Whenever his sludge-coated hands attempted to tear Inko's beads away, they would slip straight off. The Villain tutted, shrugging to the one still bound in defeat. Her gaze fell upon the larger beads she kept in her set. Roughly larger than the size of a fingernail, with a little bit of weight behind them and some force from her Quirk, these beads could be launched to and from things rather well.

Like mini canon balls.

If she could differentiate the force and the trajectory the orbiting curve the beads would take, then her on-the-fly plan might just work.

"Okay," Inko muttered to Usagi, suddenly wishing she'd paid more attention in Maths. "New plan."

Usagi's gulp was audible; he warily watched the slimy Villain from the corner of his eye. "Hit me with it," he told her, parroting a cheesy line from some form of buddy-cop movie or drama that Inko wasn't familiar with but definitely knew Usagi shouldn't be watching at his age.

Maybe that's where he'd got his sass from? His mother had seemed like a nice person when Inko had introduced herself to the neighbours surrounding her apartment, if a little ditzy. Though 'rabbit brained' might have been a more appropriate term to use considering Usagi had her exact features and fur colouring.

"We don't need a key when we have a phone and my quirk," Inko informed him, leaning close his fluffy ears to whisper her plan. "I need you to start screaming again while I use my Quirk. We're all getting out of here one way or another."

* * *

 **[1]** 1 breeze block = 28lb / 2st so 6st – equivalent to a light woman or a child, I guess.

 **A/N [19/07/2018]:** This was as far as I'd written back in May, and all I've done is clean up this chapter before publication. Have got no idea when Chapter Three will be out, because I'm yet to write it. (I'm graduating Uni tomorrow!)

Thank you to everyone who has left a review so far - especially you **RandomDude** , your review was really excitable! (I feel like you're giving me too much credit for the parallels-thing, because it hadn't actually crossed my mind to write it that way. Inko's father and her backstory just sort of wrote themselves, and I can honestly say the concept definitely wasn't intentional... It was just me wondering how evil I could get with Inko's unknown childhood.). I think _You Only Tell The Truth_ was a stopgap between me writing this fic. It was my first really foray into BnHA; I've had a bit of a meddle with canon there, and now I'm going to do it here too. It could also be that the writing is more abstract in _YOTTT_ , whereas in _Orbit_ I'm making myself slow down and smell the exposition. Still, thank you for reading both stories!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Just a quick note before we begin. I have pushed the rating up to M, just to be safe. Although not necessarily violent, things get a little gruesome in the beginning and it doesn't feel right to leave this story as a T rating. Also, I've made some new cover art for those of you on the Desktop Site - it's also up on my Tumblr, so check there! **  
**

* * *

 **ORBIT**

* * *

 _3_

* * *

As soon as Usagi opened his mouth, Inko got to work. The rabbit-Quirked child's shrieking cut through the tense warehouse like a sharpened blade.

With her right hand Inko pulled with her Quirk and latched onto the telephone across from their cage. Using just enough power to loosen the phone from the cradle, she pulled the receiver as far away from the wall as she dared. The chance of their captors noticing was high, but the phone needed to be close enough to the cage for their pleas to register.

Inko's right hand – a more dominant and accurate appendage than her left – readied her beads. She would have to push a select few away from her, arcing them just right so that they hit each digit correctly. Inko could not afford to make any mistakes.

"Keep it up, Usagi," she whispered.

Hoping that her aim would be true, and wincing against a sudden wave of pain rippling out from the lump on her head, Inko flung the first bead.

It hit just shy of the number one on the keypad, and slightly cracked the plastic.

Inko grimaced. She bit her lip to try and focus through the pain in her head, readying herself once more and pushing another bead away from her; this one was lighter and made of a softer material than the bead prior. Usagi's shrieks thankfully masked the obnoxious 'blip' resounding from the compressed keypad.

Inko repeated this twice more.

 _One. One. Zero._

She wheezed in relief. If she could just hit the call button, then everything would be okay. Someone would come and get them out of here – she knew it. Usagi was looking a little red in the face, and the slimy, slick Villain was growing more agitated by the minute, but so far no one had noticed what Inko was doing.

"Just a little longer," Inko murmured close to Usagi's ear. "Just hold on for a little longer, I'm nearly done."

With bated breath, she let the fourth and final bead fly.

The call processed.

A sly little smile curled up the corners of Inko's lips. She'd done it. She'd actually been able to wield her Quirk to her advantage. Sure, she'd been kidnapped in the process, but the rest of her plans had worked so far. She joined in with Usagi, filling her lungs as best as she could before she screamed.

"Shut up!" Bellowed the slimy Villain. His gelatinous coating was growing thicker; the body encapsulated within more distorted and broken as he rose from his seat.

The Villain Inko had secured with a bead-bind whimpered. He did not pose as much of a threat than the slimy Villain, and with no other use for her beads (seeing as they did no significant damage to the slime Villain and it was a waste to keep hold of the other) Inko loosened her hold and called them all towards her. They pooled in her lap like a featureless, formless pet; swirling in anticipation as she ran her hands through them in the same manner an owner rakes their hands through their cat's fur. The glittering mass almost seemed to purr as Inko directed it into her arm pouch.

She and Usagi had switched now from basic screaming to crying out 'Help!'.

"Be quiet!" The Villain cried once more, slipping his way towards them. Inko and Usagi hushed; the former couldn't quite contain her smirk. "What are you smiling for?"

Inko was either shaking with silent laughter, or her injuries were making her vision jump. She bit back a hysterical laugh.

"Help! _Help!_ They're holding us here, _please send help!"_ She cried.

"I said, _shut up-"_ the slime Villain growled, slamming a flaccid arm against the top of the cage. As the Villain moved away, the arm separated from the body it belonged to; resting precariously atop the metal bars.

Gunk oozed from above, and Usagi recoiled in horror – dragging a still unconscious Taka away from where the gloop fell.

"Heh," the Villain scoffed wetly. "Should have expected that."

"Hey…"

It was their wimpy captor – the one Inko had just set free. They had wobbled to their feet, and had, unfortunately, discovered the ongoing phone call. The line was oddly silent; no voices called through, perhaps smartly trying to keep the call open for a long as possible.

The wimpier man's lower lip began to tremble. He slammed the receiver back into the cradle. "We don't know who she could have called."

Inko wished she hadn't unbound the bloke now.

"Well, well," garbled the slime Villain. "Guess we'll have to get moving before someone finds us then. Find the keys and get the boys out. I'm going to need a new… suit… and Missy here has just volunteered."

Something tugged at Inko's memories with the mention of this Villain needing another 'suit'. He'd specified earlier that his current one was rather tight, and Inko had concurred. She had also just thought that this Villain had a Quirk which produced a mucous-type layer over their body, and then he'd gone and dismembered himself.

She felt along her left bicep for the zip of her arm pouch, prepared for the worst.

The slime Villain shed his skin.

Out of the corpses' mouth – for no longer did the body belong to the living – pooled even more slick and viscous liquid. It separated slowly from the body, which wilted to a shrivelled heap on the floor as the slime vacated its rotting shell. The stench from both the mass of near-transparent gunk and the decomposing body of an unknown male, hit the conscious captives directly. Inko cupped a hand over her mouth to keep from heaving.

"Usagi, stay behind me," she said thickly, swallowing down a taste of bile. The rabbit-Quirked child did not move, transfixed with the terror before him. Inko shuffled numbly to block his view with her back.

"That's better," the Villain crowed. The area that Inko presumed was where the Villain's shoulders and neck were situated rippled – almost as though they were stretching out tense muscles. "Meat suits are great for blending in, but they don't last very long. Still, I'm very glad you're here to replace the last one."

The 'last one' now Inko took an (unfortunately) close look at it, was missing one arm. Chunks of once healthy flesh were now pallid and gouged, and whomever this person had been had likely suffered multiple fractures if the mangled legs and ankles were anything to go by. The slime, now dripping away and coiling back towards the reforming Villain, exposed the true pallor of the deceased. A worsened, sickly, veiny colour that Inko wished she'd never have to see again after identifying the cold corpse of her father.

This exacerbated decomposition of the deceased was rousing old demons, and was likely to induce more nightmares. Inko would be running until her legs gave out for a while if she got out of this alive.

"Now then," The Villain slipped towards her, tendrils of their form lunging through the bars and encasing Inko's legs. She was tugged to the edge of the cage, Usagi not able to cling to her back and pull Inko away as the slime travelled up her body.

It wrapped around her neck. Pressed at her chin. She tried not to whimper.

"Open wide," the Villain crooned.

Inko closed her eyes.

The sound of the warehouses' shutters going up made her open them again.

 _Heroes_ – Heroes Inko should probably know of but did not – poured into the building. Behind her, Usagi gave a little cheer. Inko slumped in relief.

* * *

"Tsukauchi!" Called the Detective stood beside Inko.

Inko smiled confusedly. She was wrapped in a soft blue blanket given to her by the medics that had arrived on scene shortly after the Heroes had busted the trio out of their cage. The Detective noted her bemusement, acknowledging it with a smile of his own.

"My trainee," the Detective clarified.

A teen, only a few years younger than Inko most likely, dressed in a beige coat that swamped his gangly frame and a set of comically large white gloves, loped to his instructor's side.

"Glad you could join us Tsukauchi. Got your pen this time?"

'Tsukauchi', with his bulky white gloves, fumbled through his pockets and nearly dropped the writing implement he'd found in there.

The Detective made to elbow Inko good-naturedly in the side – stopping just shy of her blanket so as to not impose on her personal space. "Trainee Tsukauchi here is new to taking accounts from at the scene, so if you don't mind Miss Midoriya, he'll be taking down your initial statement."

"It's…" This time, Tsakuachi did drop his pen. Hopefully, in a few years he'd grow into his coat and gloves. "It's fine with me?"

"Right then, Trainee. You're on your own. I'm just going to be stood right here."

Tsukauchi eyed his superior worriedly. The notebook and pen he held quivered in his grasp. The teen clenched his fingers, and took a deep, calming breath.

"H-hello Miss Midoriya. I am Trainee Naomasa Tsukauchi – I'll be taking your statement today. My Quirk, if you do not mind, will be able to identify whether or not you have lied during the recount of your story. If you could please explain how you found yourself in this situation…?"

Inko had balked at the mention of identifying lies. How would she spin this one without accidentally revealing she was a Vigilante-wannabe?

"Good evening, Trainee Tsukauchi," she greeted timidly. "I was taking a walk through the area – I've recently move here you see… I'd walked past Usagi and Taka a few minutes before turning back and heard a commotion."

"What prompted you to investigate further?" Tsukauchi inquired, all business. Inko gaped a little as the teen suddenly morphed into more serious mannerisms. His superior beamed proudly.

Inko gulped and clutched the blanket tighter round her shoulders. "It didn't feel right. It gets dark fairly early now, and I remember it didn't feel right to let two young children walk around. The area I was in wasn't the best too. Then I heard a scream and…"

"So, you followed the two children, found they'd been snatched off the street. Then what did you do?"

Inko hung her head while Trainee Tsukauchi scribbled into his notepad. There was no point in lying. She'd be found out by his Quirk is she did, and well, Inko had already been berated by the first responding Heroes for not calling the potential kidnapping in as soon as she'd spotted it.

"I acted impulsively," she admitted, swiping at a stray crocodile tear. "I should have gone back to the main street and called for help, but I didn't. I knew Usagi and I didn't quite think it through; rushed in, got hit on the head."

The Detective coughed. "Yes, the medics did say something about a nasty blow to the head. Are you okay to continue questioning, Miss Midoriya?"

"Perfectly fine," Inko said through gritted teeth.

Tsukauchi stilled. "That was a lie."

Inko – childishly – pouted. "Yes, it was, but I would rather do this now than later."

"If you're sure?" The Detective queried, and Inko bobbed her head. With a nod to his pupil, the police officer lapsed back into merely observing, allowing Tsukauchi to lead once more.

"How, precisely, did you manage to reach the phone?"

Inko patted the pouch on her arm. "I've recently taken up a sewing project." That wasn't a lie. "To make life easier, I've took to keeping a pouch of beads on me at all times." That was not a lie either. "In fact, from now on I don't think I'll take this off!"

Tsukauchi seemed to smile at her feeble attempts of humour but forced his lips into a rigid line. "You may have to look into Japan's weapons laws if you decide to arm yourself."

(That earned a subtle scoff from his superior, but nothing else was said of Inko's beads.)

"My Quirk allows me to draw small objects towards me. With it – and with Usagi distracting the Villains – I lifted the phone away from the wall. I'd dropped a few beads earlier to try and distract the captors just in case there was a key nearby that I could pull towards me. Depending on if I push or pull, sometimes the items latched to my Quirk fling themselves away from me…"

Tsukauchi and his superior looked mystified. "And through sheer dumb luck alone you managed to hit the right buttons."

Inko shrugged. "It was worth a shot."

Never mind that she'd been using carboard cut outs of various sizes as target practice over the last few months.

"Well," said the police officer, clapping his hands. "I think that should be all for now. If we have any further questions, we'll be in touch shortly. Do you have any next of kin that we can contact for you about staying over in the hospital?"

The medics had deemed Inko a stubborn medical miracle. With the smack to her head and the amount of stress she'd endured (through shrieking and panic and trying her best to keep a cool head throughout the duration of her captivity) Inko should have been laid out on the ground fast asleep by now. They'd identified a slight concussion, and advised she stay overnight in the local hospital just to be safe.

"Thank you for your time, Detective, Trainee Tsukauchi," Inko said softly. She tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders. "But there's no one available."

"Certainly your parents-" Tsukauchi blustered.

"Both of my parents have passed away, Trainee." Inko replied waspishly, and the young trainee flushed with embarrassment. "Though perhaps you may contact one of my neighbours for me, Mr Takiyama?"

* * *

"You are a fool." Inko winced. She deserved that, she guessed. "You asked me specifically about the areas to avoid in this area and what do you do?"

Mr Takiyama looked down at Inko expectantly. The latter was propped up in a hospital bed.

A section of her hair had been shorn away so that the nursing staff could get a closer look at the bump on the right side of Inko's head, and to check if there was only mild bruising. She'd been assessed and sent for a scan but had later been told that other than her mild concussion there was nothing else to worry about.

Inko had spent the night being checked on intermittently to make sure she didn't fall into too deep of a sleep. While general checks were conducted anyway – for her blood pressure and to top up a simple dose of pain medication – a concussion, even if only slight, had to be treated with caution.

Mr Takiyama, who had likely been contacted by the police, had travelled to Musutafu General to check on Inko's condition the next morning. He'd been allowed to sit with her for an hour but would eventually be kicked out and told to come back during visiting hours.

"They brought Ametsuchi's kid home last night in bits. Heard him wailing even three apartments away," Inko's elderly neighbour groused.

"He wasn't kept here overnight then, like his friend?"

Taka and Inko had initially been placed on the sane emergency patients ward, but with Inko being close to getting discharged from hospital and Taka's case being more serious in nature than her own, the pair had been separated to different areas of the hospital. Taka had likely been moved in order to be cared for by specialists in the paediatric ward.

Mr Takiyama shook his head. "The police brought him and Ametsuchi back late last night. Didn't stop crying until about three this morning."

Inko's concerned expression pinched. While she had skirted around falling asleep for too long, and even though she was older than Usagi, she would likely have unsettled dreams about this event for a while too. Thankfully Taka had been knocked out for the duration of the horror.

"It wasn't pleasant. The Detective who was first to the scene last night and his Trainee told me that they're holding the three on child trafficking charges. Apparently, there's a chance that they're connected to a larger ring of traffickers around the country."

"Well I still say you're a fool," snapped Mr Takiyama. "Who goes rushing in instead of calling the police. I told you not to do anything stupid, kid."

Inko wasn't going to apologise. She nodded to Mr Takiyama, but she would not apologise. In her own mind, she had done the foolish thing – but at the time it had been the _right_ thing. Heroes were trained to cast away their hesitancy and to launch themselves into battle; Inko had, regretfully, done the same with no Heroic training whatsoever and only her beads for backup.

While she knew that she had gone about her vigilantism in the wrong manner, Inko wasn't dissuaded from her plans at all. Their capture had revealed a lot of things to her: For one, that she was feistier and more willing to fight than she had imagined, which perhaps stemmed from Mitsuki constantly being the one to throw the first punch, much to Inko's loathing.

Secondly, Inko had been able to engineer a plan on the fly and had worked out a solution with limited resources at her disposal. That both Trainee Tsukauchi and his superior were completely baffled with how well Inko had found a solution to her problem was an added boon. It meant that as Orbit, Inko would be able to find an escape route no matter the odds.

There was one slight issue though. Orbit – and Inko – had no combat experience. Inko had the stamina and the staying power; she could run and run and run, and she was young and flexible still. Women were slightly more flexible than men, and with her constant barrelling around the city Inko had shorn away her baby fat for good. Muscle was beginning to build in taught, lean shapes across her thighs and arms.

Inko was learning all she could at her self defence and martial arts classes, but it wouldn't always be enough. Her jumpsuit was elastic and strong, but it was not infallible. Her beads were also only useful when applicable to the Villain Inko encountered; they'd had no effect on the slime Villain – except for maybe obliterating him into tiny jellied chunks.

Orbit was going to need a weapon. Something with a little strength behind it, yet still light enough for her to carry and wield through the duration of a patrol.

"You've got that look on your mug again," Mr Takiyama said, startling Inko a little.

"I'm sorry, but what 'look'?"

"The one that says, 'I'm planning on getting myself killed.'"

"Oh."

A hammer could work. Inko decided to check through the local hardware store as soon as she was released from the hospital. Throwing and recalling a hammer sounded like a good way to not get herself killed.

* * *

The bathroom sink was littered with small offcuts of green-tinted hair. Inko surveyed the freshly trimmed strands of her fringe and made one slight snip to correct an odd length she had missed.

Through the weeks after she'd been discharged from hospital, and trying to put the ghastly event behind her, Inko had taken to pulling her hair back behind her head; using long strands from in front of her ears to mask the bald spot she'd acquired. Mirroring this gathering of hair on the other side of her head, she would join the two sections in a messy bun at the crown of her head.

Today though, she was neatening herself up. She felt ready to go for a gentle walk around the neighbourhood.

Contrary to her thoughts in the hospital, Inko hadn't felt comfortable enough to leave her home straight away after being discharged to go and look for a suitable hammer. She allowed herself to rest, tried to read a book, and soon relented and made herself a set of lightweight gloves out of the same material she'd crafted her jumpsuit from. Just an easy sewing project to pass the time.

A fortnight had passed since Usagi and Taka had been snatched off of the street, and Inko was entering her third week of delaying weapons-hunting. Inko had entertained Ms. Ametsuchi and her son soon after they'd realised she'd been allowed to return home; the former thanking her profusely and the latter only there to eat Inko out of house and home. They said nothing of the large map spread across the wall, much to Inko's relief.

Mr Takiyama had stopped by with a few essential groceries after realising Inko wasn't about to emerge from her apartment anytime soon.

"When I said don't do anything stupid, I didn't mean don't do anything at all," he'd grouched, handing Inko a loaf of bread, some snacks, and a tin of loose tea leaves.

However, the time had come for Inko to leave the confines of her apartment again, no matter how daunting that thought might be.

She'd suffered more than she'd anticipated (and more than Usagi, seeing as the child had bounced around her home like a force of nature the other week). Sleep would elude her at times, and Inko often flinched if she heard movement coming from her neighbour's apartments. Having to leave the door open after her if she entered her home's tiny bathroom had become second nature to her somehow. She felt a little silly, but with no one there to overhear or catch a glimpse of her accidentally, Inko preferred leaving the door open. She couldn't be trapped again if it was open.

Inko never wanted to feel trapped again if she could help it.

Neither Inko nor the Ametsuchi family had heard of anything from Taka or his kin up until the end of her week of self-confinement. The slamming at her door in the early morning had shaken her, and Inko had peered through the peep hole of her apartment's front door until she'd deemed whoever it was knocking wasn't a threat.

Usagi had darted past her after only opening the door a fraction, declaring he had a letter from Taka.

Taka Tsubame had been lawfully separated from his mother by the Japanese Child Protection Services. She had been judged unworthy to care for her child and questioned under suspicion of negligence. In Taka's letter, which was mostly Hirigana and Katakana scribbles and the odd doodle that had been translated into a neat script below by and older hand, the child explained that he was now living with his father and stepmother halfway across the country. He was happy, and hale, and looking forward to the birth of his step-sibling later this year.

Usagi, thought a little perturbed at the thought of his best friend no longer living close to him, had announced that he was happy for Taka. Inko agreed. After what he had been through, Taka deserved some good fortune in his life.

(She was also secretly glad that she'd played a part in that joyous reunion and the forging of a family, because if not for intervention, Taka Tsubame could have well been dead by this point in time.)

Usagi was actually transforming into a bit of a problem for Inko. The young boy knew that Inko was at home and feeling a twinge of loneliness from Taka's absence had made Usagi clingy. If he became even more so before the time Inko was due to start Vigilante work, she'd have to find a method to keep Usagi in the dark. She could not afford, and most importantly did not wish, to move on from where she had settled just yet. Inko was saving her moving away emergency funds for if she was nearly unmasked as Orbit.

Sighing and placing her scissors on the edge of the sink, Inko wiped up the mess of chopped hair. She touched up the dark circles under her eyes and one stubborn pimple on her jaw with a dab of concealer – wrapping the strands of her hair into the familiar updo she'd adopted. Pleased with her appearance now, she readied herself to leave the apartment.

"Would a sledgehammer be too heavy?" Inko wondered aloud, slipping on her shoes and reaching for her keys.

"Ma says I'm not aloud to play with hammers until I'm grown up."

"U-Usagi?!"

The rabbit-Quirked child stood on Inko's doormat, rubbing at his ears. The action held the same energy as an ignorant child picking out their ears or nose, though from Usagi's appearance alone it should have been considered 'cute'.

Inko felt her eye begin to twitch. He was here again.

"Why d'ya need a hammer, Miss Inko?" Usagi grinned, two little buck teeth revealed by his smile.

"I'm going to be…" 'Smacking criminals around the head with it'? "… hanging some pictures."

Usagi's nose crinkled. "You hesitated."

"I never said they were good pictures," Inko retorted quickly. She looked dolefully at the child. "What kind of books does your mother make you read. You're eight, you shouldn't be using words like 'hesitated' for a few years yet."

Ignoring her, Usagi bounced from foot to foot as he followed Inko down the balcony walkway. "Are you going to buy it now? Can I come with you? My Ma says she trusts you to look after me!"

 _Great,_ Inko thought. _Thanks a lot Ms. Ametsuchi._

"Yes, I'm going now, but I don't know whether you can come along." Inko paused. "Shouldn't you ask your mother before going anywhere?"

Usagi cocked his head to the side. "Ma!" He cried. "Ma! Can I go with Miss Inko to buy a hammer?"

Inko had never been so mortified in her life.

A cry of 'Yes – be good!' resounded from the Ametsuchi's apartment, and Inko barely resisted placing her head into her hands and weeping. So much for discretely smuggling a weapon into her home. Now she'd actually have to find some pictures to hang to cover her back. The only one she currently owned, a family portrait with everyone present taken shortly before her mother died, Inko had yet to unpack even months after moving in.

Allowing a still-bouncing Usagi to grab hold of her hand, and leading the way to the DIY store, Inko wondered how this had become her life. She was currently debating on the best type of hammer the market had to offer with an eight-year-old:

"Ma would use this little one, but it's kinda lame right? So get this one-"

"Usagi please don't drop that on your foot."

The child looked up at her quizzically, a heavy sledgehammer resting in the grip of both hands. "But it doesn't weigh that much."

His arms were clearly shaking. Inko narrowed her eyes.

"Well," she began, feeling very confident in her child-wrangling abilities. "I don't think I'll need one that big – and I don't need one with a metal head. It might damage the wall more than a rubber one if I mess up."

"Oh." Usagi dropped the hammer much to Inko's dismay. "Why didn't you just say so?"

Certain that her hair would turn grey prematurely if she continued living in the same apartment block as Usagi Ametsuchi, Inko purchased not a hammer, but a decently sized rubber mallet. It was light enough in her hand to be thrown, and the rubber block of the mallet's head– used generally by campers to tap tent pegs into the ground – would dole out non-lethal damage.

Managing to foist Usagi back onto his mother before he could follow Inko back to her home, Inko locked her door behind her and set to work.

Taking a couple of garbage bags and splitting them open along the long seems, she lined her bathtub; sticking the impromptu protective sheets she had made down with masking tape. Inko paused, deftly walked back to the kitchen and brought a few more bags to line the tiled wall behind the bath. She didn't fancy having to re-grout around the tiles or trying to find a corrosive enough cleaner to remove spray paint from the wall.

Laying her freshly bought mallet down into the bath near the tap end (the rubber mallet coated in the same masking tape holding down the sheets to prevent paint coating the stiff rubber. A can of spray paint, which Inko had been saving for spraying her mask a darker shade of black, was used to coat the wooden handle of Inko's new weapon.

Waiting for the first side she'd sprayed to dry was _agonising_ – more so than it should have been. Inko ripped open the package of snacks Mr Takiyama had given to her a few days before, crunching down aimlessly as she waited for the paint to fully set. Only when it had fully dried did Inko dare move the mallet to the other end of the bath; flipping it to the non-painted side and coating said side in rich, glossy black.

She repeated this process fully once more; flipping, spraying, snacking, flipping, spraying, snacking. Inko licked the crumbs from her fingertips the last time feeling very ashamed of herself to munching her way through a sharing packet of snacks all by herself. Nonetheless, she couldn't quite bring herself to care; they'd tasted wonderful, even if she was sure to feel bloated for the rest of the night.

Waiting for the sickly, greasy feeling in her stomach to settle, Inko wondered whether she should customise the mallet further. She'd planned to take scraps of leather left over from her coat and wrap them around the handle as a softer grip, but she was unsure whether adding glow in the dark spray paint to the exposed – now blackened – wood left would be overkill.

After playing with the impromptu leather grip until she'd positioned it just right, Inko stuck it down with the strongest glue she owned. Then she masked off the leather and dusted the rest of the handle with a spattering of glow in the dark paint. Unlike her leather coat, which had bold printed stars along the tails, the mallet handle glowed like a nebula. Stars upon stars to make them _see_ stars.

Inko – no, _Orbit_ – was happy.

She would take to patrolling the streets after making sure everything she had spray painted had been granted a thorough time to dry.

* * *

Over the years, applying her costume became almost like breathing.

Orbit patrolled three to four times a week – the days keeping a randomised rotation to stop other Heroes or the police picking up on her trail. On those days, Inko Midoriya would be masked away under a swathe of black fabrics, dramatism, and a brand of lipstick she doubted was available for sale anymore.

Folding her clothes – a comfy jumper and a calf-length skirt – over the back of the desk chair in her bedroom, Inko would withdraw from her wardrobe a pristine, waterproof case from the hanging rail.

Rolling her jumpsuit up over the socks she wore, anchoring the latter in place, and wiggling the fabrics up to her hips was a practiced art. It was only up until recently that Inko had switched out her normal underwear for something more supportive; her brassier, while comfortable, didn't allow her jumpsuit to sit flush against her skin. Yet, tracking down the perfect sports bra had been worth the nightmare.

Switching to the aforementioned garment, Inko tugged the jumpsuit higher – slipping her arms into the sleeves and adjusting them to her liking. Then she pulled the zipper up the front of the suit to the base of her throat.

Next came her hair. The bald spot had filled in by this point, but Inko rather liked her hair pulled back. Sectioning the upper parts of her hair from the lower, and splitting that section into two, she fashioned two identical buns on either side of her head and secured them with pins. The rest of her tinted hair hung loose and brushed against her shoulder blades.

Lacing up her boots and checking her equipment took the longest out of transformation process. The boots had to be tight enough not to allow her feet to slop about, nor too tight that they cut off her circulation partway through patrol. Inko's equipment checks usually consisted of setting aside any beads which appeared to be cracked or sharpened before setting the rest in her arm pouch.

Inko kept multiple pouches on her, because over the years she had learnt that you could never be too careful when it came to preparing for the worst; more weaponry in your arsenal was for the best.

Hair pinned in place and laces tightly tied, Inko reached for a small case no bigger than one a student might keep their stationary in, which contained her makeup. Off brand products she'd picked up from second-hand stores, and packages she'd kept from when she was thirteen and just learning about makeup were what helped to craft Orbit's notable appearance.

Pale foundation and a healthy dusting of translucent powder across Inko's skin gave the impression of a flawless moonlight-bathed complexion. She fixed her mask into place with a little dab of eyelash glue, then dusted below the edges resting along her cheeks with a pigmented eyeshadow – flecked through with tiny particles of glitter.

Across her lips, Inko applied a murky green lipstick; during her final checks before she left for patrol, she would bare her teeth in the mirror to ensure none of the lip colour had caught against her teeth.

Since she'd turned eighteen, lost her father, moved, and set up her Vigilante patrol, Inko had not once encountered any problems. Other than those she was hunting down, of course.

She'd been instrumental in stopping a slew of sexual assaults throughout the Musutafu area, purse muggings, and other petty crimes that Pro Heroes would overlook simply because they only pursued larger rewards. Not once had Inko encountered any trouble from the law; Orbit was a prominent figure in Musutafu and her neighbourhood, but no one had every been close enough to thank the mysterious Vigilante for their hard work.

Instead, the victims Orbit rescued were given a glow in the dark star-shaped sticker. Confused, they would keep the gift. But they would remember, even though their Hero blended too well with the night.

The only time Inko could say she had felt cornered was possibly a couple of years into patrolling. Her foe was triple her size due to a mutation in his Quirk that allowed him to expand and reinforce his body as he liked, and she'd been tracked him down from where he'd fled from the scene of his crime – a mugging – into an alley.

Inko should have known really, because nothing ever good happened in alleyways. The last time she'd sprinted in unawares, she'd been smacked around the head and locked inside a cage with two children.

The alleyway had been set between two separate apartment blocks with small balconies on either side of the building. The Villain was trapped, as both apartment blocks backed onto a large corporate building that had walled off it's property from the general public.

"Come quietly," Orbit had asked of the Villain.

They threw a trash can at her in retaliation.

With her Quirk, Inko pushed the flying object away from her; it circled harmlessly behind her back until she latched onto it once more returned the favour – pushing and pulling with her Quirk as appropriate. The Villain wasn't expecting to get hit in the face at all.

Inko had just about finished securing him with zip ties and placing the items he had stolen some distance away from where he lay, crushed by the trashcan, when several lights from the apartment blocks flicked on. Sirens wailed in the distance, drawing closer to the mouth of the alley.

"Uh oh…" Inko whirled around in a panic. There was nowhere for her to run.

The wall was too high for her to scale and traipsing up the fire escapes attached to the apartment blocks would take her too close to homeowners – who could put forth an accurate description of her face. Neither could Inko run out into the street; she'd be hunted down by the police before she could ditch them, and her stint as Orbit would well and truly be over.

Could her Quirk rescue Orbit in her time of need?

The answer was yes.

As a general rule, Inko usually left nothing but necessary collateral damage behind on her patrols; the kind of things that really couldn't be helped, such as a Villain lashing out and damaging half of the city's infrastructure, or a yob breaking a window in a fit of anger before she could whack them over the head. Nothing was broken as a result of her own actions, apart from maybe one poor chimney pot that had been the casualty of her mallet being flung carelessly across the rooftops.

Noting that one apartment had a few flower pots hanging over the side of narrow balcony, Inko reached with her Quirk and _wrenched_ them down towards her – breaking her general rule just this once. Leaping into the air as high as she could, one plant pot reached her just in time to take her weight before she launched herself skywards again. The second pot arced around just in time to see Inko step carefully up onto the top of the wall.

The threatening glow red and blue glow of a police cruiser's lights drawing closer had the blood in Inko's vein's rushing; her ears were drowned in the consuming thrum of her rising heartbeat. Nearly slipping from the top of the wall, Inko tried to push down her panic.

She ran off into the night and never looked back, hearing a horrific crash as two plant pots were released from her Quirk's hold and plummeted straight onto the unsuspecting mugger.

Luckily, Orbit had not ended up in a situation like that for some time.

A quiet night on patrol rounded off to an even more listless end. Not one criminal had tried to disturb the peace on Inko's route, but she continued to watch vigilantly until the end of her self-imposed night shift.

It was drawing close to four in the morning now, and while the sunrise was due to appear very soon on this brand-new summer's day, the night had been rather chilly. An intermittent rain shower had Inko wishing she'd worn her overcoat before starting patrol, but once the showers subsided then came the muggy heat. Inko was resolved to head straight for a relaxing bath once she returned home.

Inko had her routine sorted now. In the four years that had passed, no one had ever tracked her down – she'd also been fortunate enough to be able to memorise the schedules, patterns, and habits of her neighbours to ensure they never caught her returning to her apartment in full costume.

Her routine, for the most part, was fool-proof.

Up until Mr Takiyama was stood on his back balcony watering his plants at half four that morning, instead of being fast asleep in bed. He sprayed Inko with his hose as soon as her swung herself onto her own balcony.

"Who are you?!"

Inko spat out a mouthful of water. "Mr Takiyama-"

"Clear off! I'll spray you again cretin-"

"Mr Takiyama it's only _me_ ," Inko slapped her gloved hands over her mouth in horror.

The dousing from the hosepipe ceased. Water, still trickling from the nozzle, took upon the role of noisy crickets often used for comedic effect and punctuating the lull between awkward conversation in cartoons.

"When I said not to do anything stupid at all, I didn't extend that to you stopping others from doing anything stupid too!" With that, Inko was splashed once more.

* * *

"You're a fool!" Mr Takiyama's voice hadn't quite reached screeching levels as of yet, but if Inko didn't calm him down soon half the neighbourhood would know of her secret identity.

Her elderly neighbour had granted her the luxury of changing and wiping away her makeup before the lecture began; she'd knelt prostrate in her living room while the elder paced back and to for a good forty minutes now.

"What if you'd been killed out there – no one would notice!" Inko winced at that. Was it her fault entirely that she was all alone in the world? "We care about you, you stupid child. I can't lose someone else-"

Mr Takiyama's mouth clamped shut.

"'someone else'?" Inko echoed, raising her head and lifting herself into a less strenuous kneeled position.

Mr Takiyama pulled a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his knitted cardigan, mopping at the sweat beading on the bald patch atop his head and across the back of his neck. The elder sighed and lowered himself onto Inko's couch.

"My daughter was a Hero. I never told you, but she was. Her Quirk took more after my wife's, but the trees were there to guide her too."

"Mr Takiyama – you don't-"

"You will listen, and you will listen _well_ ," the elderly man commanded. "My daughter was a Hero, and she died a Hero. Do you know what that means?"

The obvious answer was either 'She went out in a blaze of glory', 'She died doing what she loved', or 'She sacrificed herself.' The look on Mr Takiyama's face told Inko that the _correct_ answer was otherwise.

"She rushed in, not thinking straight, outclassed and all alone with nothing the strength of her Quirk could use to her advantage. Died instantly." Mr Takiyama crumpled his handkerchief between his fists. "They couldn't recover her body because there was nothing to recover."

Inko swallowed painfully, and Mr Takiyama turned to look the young woman in the eye. "Don't make her mistakes, especially unlicensed ones."

"I'm not going to stop," Inko told him flatly, and protested at the affronted look on her neighbour's face. "I _need_ to do this, I think. I _want_ to do this. But I could always use some help?"

Mr Takiyama scoffed. He wrestled with his emotions for a while - Inko could see them all, clearly defined, as they cycled across his face. Eventually the elderly man sighed. "Thought it had gone quiet around here for the past few years. That your doing?"

Inko smiled faintly. She shook her head. "Oh no. It's Orbit's."

Mr Takiyama's reprimand, and the truth behind the loss of his only child had left her feeling dizzied. Inko had wondered why no one ever came to visit, but with their child lost the elderly man's wife had soon followed suit. He'd been alone, just like her, ever since. But if the fate of a Vigilante was no better in terms of odds than a legitimate Hero, why bother to become the latter in the first place? There were laws for these kinds of things, yes, but Inko couldn't see why one should care if you were ultimately going to end up dead in the line of duty.

In a strange move for her – and for Orbit – Inko called off her patrols for the rest of the week. She had much to consider; whether to continue, to resume patrols after gaining a licensee, or if she should hang up her jumpsuit forever. Mr Takiyama had been right in saying that things were quiet in the neighbourhood, and since Orbit had debuted the dirtied fringes of Musutafu Ward had been scoured for any Villainous activity she could stamp out. She had been responsible for that. _Inko Midoriya, Orbit_ , had been responsible for the change.

By no means was the city 'safe', but it was 'safer' and Inko had played a key part in that tiny slither of progression. Could she simply give that all up after so many years of hard work?

For the remainder of the week, Inko moved listlessly around her apartment. She cleaned each room until she could see her face in every surface. Finally got around to unpacking a few more boxes left over from four years ago. She meticulously inspected every handsewn seam on her gear, polished her boots, and made sure she'd restocked one arm pouch with glow in the dark stickers before finally snapping.

Inko snatched up her keys, feeling ever so itchy and restless. Over the years she'd invested in running shoes she could just slip on instead of lacing up; tripping over fastenings when all she wanted to do was run could no longer become an issue.

Inko locked her door with haste and all but bolted down onto the street below her apartment. She allowed her legs to carry her aimlessly; they knew her running route better than she by this point, and it no longer took a conscious effort to navigate her way around the suburban streets.

She cut through a nearby park, allowing her loping stride to loosen and extend along the open pathways. Inko scrunched her eyes shut, a toothy grin barely retaining her whoop of joy as she picked up speed.

Said speed disappeared when she collided with something. Or rather, _someone_.

"I'm so sorry are you alright-"

"I could-"

"And your coffee's all over your papers! I'm really sorry I should have been looking where I was going-"

"Please calm – _calm down,"_ the stranger insisted, brushing stray drops of lukewarm coffee from his suit trousers. His briefcase lay open to the side of where the pair had collided; papers now a murky brown from the spilt hot drink.

Inko jumped to her feet, extending a hand to the man. "I'm really sorry. _Truly_ , I am-"

"As I said, it's fine," replied the man. Inko would swear that the air around him _sparkled_ as he flashed her a charming grin. Light reflected off a tousled coif of inky black curls. He had a smattering of faint freckles across his nose. The coffee had seeped through his shirt, and Inko caught herself staring.

Not that she was drawn to the hint of muscles temptingly displayed beneath the sopping wet fabric, of course not… ha… it was, it was the eventual dry-cleaning bill that Inko was staring at the clothes fervently for – nothing else!

The man was wearing rather expensive clothing, Inko assessed from rather attentive glances. The coffee stain was spreading from the front of his torso and round to his back. Inko noticed these things because she was a very vigilant Vigilante (between the hours of eight in the evening until four in the morning) and not because this man – whoever he was – was literally dripping with good looks.

"It's not every day I get bowled over by a pretty young thing, after all."

Was this love? Inko wasn't sure.

Her tongue hung limp and useless in her mouth, too stunned to even retort about her being 'pretty'. No one had ever called her pretty. Actually, no one outside of Mr Takiyama and the Ametsuchi family really spoke to her at all. She was so busy patrolling as Orbit that Inko Midoriya had simply forgotten what it was to socialise and to have inane things like crushes.

She was nearly twenty-three, how had she dismissed having a social life so casually? **[1]**

Biting her lip, Inko bowed and introduced herself.

"'Inko'?"

"Yes."

"A pleasure," the man smiled, and her heart almost leapt out of her chest. "I'm Hisashi."

Their moment, stood there suspended in time amongst a puddle of coffee and scattered papers, ended with the sound of Hisashi's phone ringing.

"I'm sorry, I need to take this," Hisashi said, and waved Inko off when she asked whether he wanted to be reimbursed for his coffee and dry cleaning.

'No, I'm fine. Should I be worried?' she heard him say to whoever it was on the other end of the call, and Inko felt a sting of disappointment. Of course, there would be something blocking her way to a good thing; though there was no binding ring on his finger, it was probably someone important to him. Maybe someone he loved.

Regretfully, Inko continued her run. It was hard to move her feet away, and she longed to turn back and wait for Hisashi to finish whatever business he had so that she could stare at him some more. That's what people did when they were enamoured right?

(It wasn't. Inko had been re-watching too many idealistic dramas again and had inadvertently picked up some strange ideas about courtship.)

Still, being found out as a Vigilante by her neighbour maybe hadn't been a bad thing. Inko may have found her future husband that morning, and things were looking up. It would be easy as Orbit to track him down should she need to, and if she didn't get caught doing so then it would be her little secret. She would just be looking out for citizen in need, right? No harm no foul, as the saying went.

What else could top her day off?

Deciding that running wasn't really interesting her anymore – her heart was no longer in the moment, it was back in the park with Hisashi – Inko slowed her pace to a walk. She meandered through the bustling streets in search of a small café she could sulk in and drown her love-struck sorrows with coffee.

Finding one establishment (it looked fancy, and for once Inko was glad she'd stuffed a few more notes into her arm pouch the other day just in case she ran into monetary troubles while, well, _running_ ) Inko ordered something frivolous off the menu and was about to find a discreet table to sit at when-

"Inko? Ko… is that you?"

Inko stilled. She tucked a disarrayed chunk of her hair behind her ear; it had come loose in the crash earlier, and Inko hadn't thought to tidy herself up afterwards – too star struck for anything other than ogling Hisashi.

Inko gulped. "Mitsuki."

Sat beside a gentleman with faint stubble on his chin, was Inko's estranged friend. A prominent wedding band sat on his finger, with a slender circle of white-gold – adorned with gems, naturally – encircled Mitsuki's own ring finger.

"Masaru, this is Inko – she's my best friend."

 _'_ _Was,'_ Inko corrected. _I was your best friend_.

Mitsuki struggled to her feet; the form fitting dress she wore bulged a little around the abdomen. Nothing notable unless you knew what you were looking for and it could easily be mistaken for weight gain. The blonde noticed the protuberance that had drawn Inko's attention, resting her hands across the small bump.

"Inko, this is Masaru Bakugou: My husband."

She sounded so proud of herself, stood there in that café with her cushy life and her husband, her enviously slim – if pregnant – figure, and her naïve belief that after all these years Inko was still going to doggedly be her friend. Yet at the same time, Inko felt a traitorous warmth bloom within her at the thought of still holding a part of Mitsuki's heart for her own; that their fight oh so long ago had been meaningless and had simply grown out of proportion.

The belief that if Mitsuki was here again and that Inko wouldn't be alone, filled her mind. Inko stomped down all of these petty hopes with a wave of jealousy and a strained smile. "Nice to meet you, Mr Bakugou."

"Call me Masaru, please. Tsuki's told me all about you – how you were the one to design that fabulous velvet piece years back."

 _Well_ , Inko thought smarmily. _I'm glad it was at least something good you'd heard.  
_

There was something deeper about Masaru's gaze though. Something that said he knew exactly about the green-eyed monster Inko was only just keeping at bay inside of her. It made Inko feel uncomfortable – and unwelcome. Clearly Mitsuki would soon pick up on Inko's discomfort and hopefully the latter would bid them goodbye and never run into the Bakugou's ever again.

Today was a day full of coincidences and surprises, though not all of them had been as unwelcome as the one sat right across from Inko now in this upmarket café.

"I'm due in April next year," Mitsuki chattered, expression missing its usual volatile fire. Whether the burning embers of her maternal behaviour was part of Masaru's influence, or if Mitsuki had merely changed over the last four years, Inko did not know. The transformation was a little disconcerting. "What about you though – how's your old Pa doing?"

Inko thanked the waitress as they set down her coffee at Mitsuki and Masaru's table. She took a composed sip. "He's dead."

"Ko, I'm so sorry –"

"They came and told me right after you left that night. It couldn't be helped." Inko debated on whether a set of burns were worth it should she down her hot coffee in one go and flee. Mitsuki's face was a picture of abject horror. "I ended up moving because I couldn't afford to run the house."

Mitsuki rubbed her hands worriedly over her small baby-bump. Masaru squeezed his wife's arm reassuringly.

"Why didn't you say anything? I would have helped you."

Anger nipped at Inko's features, but she schooled a mocking smile into one that was more amiable. Mitsuki – eighteen-year-old, hot-headed Mitsuki – would not have helped her back then. Though the blonde's temper had supposedly cooled now, Inko couldn't bring herself to forget how easily the woman she once called a friend had tossed her aside.

Inko wisely took another sip of coffee. She shrugged; "Well, it's dealt with now. What of yourselves?"

The chatting drudged onwards, and Inko wished she'd downed her coffee and just left.

"We're thinking 'Katsuki' if it's a boy," Masaru told her.

"'if'? It _is_ a boy, I tell you," Mitsuki protested. "I just know it."

Mentally, Inko shuddered at the thought of a mini-Mitsuki wreaking havoc across Japan.

"So," Masaru said, wisely changing the subject. "What is it that you do Inko?"

"Oh, you know," Inko returned blithely. "This and that."

* * *

Before her patrol the following day Mr Takiyama invited himself into her home.

"Here," he said gruffly. A handheld device was placed on Inko's lap.

"What-"

"Portable radio. Had it left over from my driving days. Use it if you need to," Mr Takiyama clarified. He tapped his hip, revealing another radio attached to his belt. "You run into any trouble out there, you call it in."

Inko raised her eyebrows. "Okay-"

"Also, I'm staying here until you get back."

"That's…" Inko sighed, knowing there was no other way around this. "That's fine."

She reached into her one of her arm pouches, selecting two star-shaped stickers and placing one on each of the radios. Mr Takiyama sniffed at the faintly glowing sticker on his radio but did not object to its presence. He wished her a safe patrol, and with that, Inko was out of her balcony door and blending in with the night.

The streets were quiet, but she could tell that Orbit's presence in the world had been missed. While she meandered down back alleys and dodgy neighbourhoods, Inko often cleaned as she went; acquiring litter from the floor in a plastic bag until she could find the nearest recycling point. This night she was inundated with trash every way she turned.

An hour and a half now remained of her shift, and Inko decided to patrol a little further afield.

Call her sentimental, but she returned to the park where she had met Hisashi that afternoon. She was glad to be such a sentimental fool.

"I don't want any trouble," Hisashi said, his back to Orbit while he tried to placate the Villain confronting him.

"Maybe Mummy and Daddy should have handed over the money then instead of ignoring the Boss' demands," the Villain sneered, hands stretching for his target. "Then I wouldn't have been sent to beat your scrawny arse-"

Before she knew what exactly she was doing, Inko let her mallet fly. It zoomed past both men's heads before she latched onto it again – halting the weapon in its tracks. The hammer shifted slightly in its suspended position; Inko used her method of push and pull to line it up just right.

"Like hell you will," she seethed, before calling the mallet back. It collided with a resounding _smack_ against the Villain's head.

Hisashi whirled around and was met with the sight of a five-foot four diminutive mass of black leather and spite. The stars spray-painted onto Inko's coat twinkled menacingly.

"Are you alright sir?" Hisashi's eyes widened in recognition at her voice. He opened his mouth, but Inko shook her head gently. "Can you call this in for me please, I'm not exactly legitimate."

Orbit recalled her mallet. She'd left a sizeable bump on the back of the Villain's head, but no lasting damage other than a nasty headache later.

"Did he harm you at all sir?"

Hisashi, a little dazed from his revelation, shook his head. His fingers fumbled over the buttons of his phone, and he stammered as he spoke to the operator about to dispatch the police to their location. Inko gazed back and smiled at his floundering.

Hisashi ended the call. "Ink-"

"I didn't have the chance to hurt him," the Villain suddenly growled, stumbling to his feet and rubbing at the spot on the back of his head. "But I'll be happy to rip the pair of you to shreds. Boss never said anything about collateral…"

"Get back!" Inko cried, grabbing hold of Hisashi's still-stained shirt and dragging him to safety before the Villain could lunge. She nearly ripped open the pouch of beads she wore around her upper left arm, letting the glittering horde swarm around them.

The Villain scoffed. "And what is that going to do?"

Inko's eyes narrowed. She flicked her fingers tauntingly. " _This_."

Like a man possessed, the Villain launched himself out of the way of the swarm; from a distance, you could almost mistake Orbit's beads for a hive of bees up in arms.

"What are you doing?" Hisashi exclaimed, gripping Inko's shoulders. "You don't know how what he's got in store for me. He'll kill us both-"

"Not if I can help it," she replied determinedly. "Stay behind me."

"No-"

"Stay there-"

"No, I'm not going to let you put yourself in harm's way for my troubles." Hisashi's chin jutted out stubbornly as he set his jaw.

Inko wrestled with her beads, trying to form a thick enough barrier around the Villain to keep him occupied and Hisashi and herself far away from potential attacks. "I'm only doing my job. Just because you've met me before – wait, _what are you doing? Stop!"_

But it was too late. Hisashi had puffed up his chest and expelled a raging blaze of fire from between his lips. Inko normally would have no qualms about this; what was a little third degree burn to a career criminal after all? However pretty she found Hisashi's curls to be, or how enticing she found his body, and how she wondered if he'd taste smoky if she kissed him now, she would not so easily forgive him for melting all her beads in one well aimed, blistering expulsion.

"What have you done?" Inko cried, watching as the smoke cleared and her beads lay melted into a muddle of mixed material on the park grounds. The Villain who'd accosted Hisashi groaned weakly. His burns had turned his brutish face lobster red and slightly charred. Extensive blisters were already beginning to form.

Sirens sounded in the distance, and Inko swore. "I've got to go."

"Wait-"

"I'm a Vigilante, Hisashi. I can't be found here," she told him sharply.

"I know that," he said, grabbing her arm. "Take me with you."

* * *

 **[1]** I'm going off the assumption that Inko was in the same year group as Mitsuki – making her 38 at the time of canon BnHA, rather 40-odd. Meeting Hisashi at 23, with the birth of Izuku looming soon, brings Inko to 24; fourteen years later we hit canon, so the ages check out. Inko is canonically older, so it's been a pain to fiddle with timings. As with Tsukauchi, he's canonically 36 – two years younger than Inko (in this fic anyway); so him acting as a trainee works if he'd begun his internship then.

* * *

 **A/N [7/9/2018] :**

Oh my gosh, am I sorry (not sorry) for how long it's taken me to update this. Up until a week ago, I had about one hundred words written down for this and a lot of scenarios playing out in my head. A lot happens in this chapter – although for me it doesn't feel like enough, and I've been forced to leave quite a bout for Chapter Four rather than including it here. Otherwise this chapter would have carried on for another 10,000 words if I hadn't drawn the line where I have. Apart from the 40,000 words I'd produced this year for Uni, I'd calculated a further 200,000 for fanfiction this year. There's no wonder I'm so tired; I haven't produced this much content in years. _Heartbreaker? Pfffsh..._ was... an experience. I cried a lot for forcing myself to do daily updates, but I managed somehow. And now we've got _Late Hero Academia_ , just lurking there.

That being said, thank you all for waiting patiently, and for your favourites, follows, and reviews. I'm looking at you, **_RandomDude._** You have no idea how excited I get about long, critical reviews. (They're my favourite kind of reviews~!)

So, **_RandomDude_** (pleaaase, pleeeease log in or make an account so I can speak with you easier, and so I can thank you better than in random-update-instalments), here's what I have to say to you:

AaaaAArgh- _ahem_ , I'm quite flattered. We've covered this before, but I have an idea of Vigilante!Inko in my head, but nothing nefarious or meticulously planned for her. I'm just sort of going with the flow…? I know that sounds wishy-washy, but it's the truth, I swear.

I would have thought that if she could pull things towards her, she needed to be some kind of anchoring force. I've read fics before where Inko can basically do all her household chores (dish washing and the like) simply by directing objects with her Quirk. But the aforementioned breaks the rule of push-and-pull, because the object Inko is interacting with has a whole range of movement and not just to and away from her body – it's specified by some authors to be more of a levitation-based or almightily mundane telekinetic Quirk. So, if she's attracting 'small' objects towards her, but actively fighting against that at the same time, the objects are going to try and find any way possible with which they can be pulled towards her again – hence _Orbit._

I love Hero Notebook Hour. Never change. I'm not going to comment on weaponry, because most of it has been explained in this Chapter, and I don't exactly science well. At all. Apologies.

Plot-wise, I see what you mean. I wanted to build to the last few scenes in Chapter Two, but that meant taking it slowly. This chapter is probably the same, but again, it's how I write. I prefer to work in tiny mundane scenes, which is usually why I stick to comedy, slice of life, and romance/fluffiness. I do mundane well. I do flowery descriptions well. Action and long-term plots…? Not so much. Personally, for me, this story is less about the technicalities and politics of BnHA, but the interpersonal side. I want to focus on Inko's feelings, and her little tragedies, and her attempts at trying to ignore how isolated she feels. _Orbit_ was never about grand battles or her trying to change the world like Canon-Izuku. She's eighteen (now twenty-three) and alone, and I wondered, if you were that suffocated and volatile, and had never acted out before, what kind of punishment/expectation(s)/madcap scheme would you place upon yourself?

It's also a bit of wish fulfilment, I guess. Inko deliberates quite a bit, both in _Orbit_ and in Canon. Though, once she sets her mind to something, she's immovable. I feel that myself. I have ideas of doing things but am not brave enough to do them sometimes. Though I am much the same as she, once I take the irrevocable plunge into the unknown.

Who's to say she won't declare herself, or get caught in the future? Maybe Orbit will never be caught, or become a legitimate Hero? Even I do not know for certain, and unfortunately, an authoress must keep her secrets.

As always though, thank you. I really enjoyed reading your review.

To everyone else, why not check out my Tumblr for more content? My handle is **yuilhan-writes-things** , so come and natter with me! I've got a few _Orbit_ -y bits and bobs on there, and I'm hoping to have a link to a playlist for this fic up on my Bio before this is posted – so make sure to check for that too!


	4. Chapter 4

**ORBIT**

* * *

 _4_

* * *

Running through the darkness with Hisashi was an experience in itself. Like with the first time she'd had to escape a police pursuit, Inko's blood thrummed uncontrollably around her body. Taking names, righting wrongs, wielding mallets; it got her heart racing in a way a mundane lifestyle never could.

Hisashi's hand – wrapped around her own – could surely feel her pulse pumping wildly as they sprinted through the tight and twisting back streets of Musutafu.

Where could she possibly take him? Where would be safe? Taking Hisashi back to her home was out of the question, even if a small selfish part of Inko wanted to do just so and never let him out of her sight again.

Other than her pulse, something thrummed inside of her. Selfish and enamoured, it demanded she cling to his hand and never let go, just as she hadn't let Mitsuki or the death of her father weigh her down as she clung to Orbit's identity.

It just wasn't safe to take him back to her apartment though – and if he left, Inko would have to move because what if he let slip-

 _No._ She threw a glance over her shoulder; Hisashi trailed behind her, puffing slightly as he tried to keep up with Inko's fierce pace. Little tufts of smoke curled out from his nose and the corners of his mouth.

Hisashi wouldn't betray Inko's identity, would he? Yes, she had known him for under a day, but there was a connection there – she knew it – _and_ she'd just saved him. There was a connection there because she'd felt it pass between them like the molten sparks he'd sprayed at the Villain accosting him. A tiny, naïve, but _demanding,_ voice in the back of her head whispered they were fated. Why else would she have, quite literally, bumped into him?

Inko tugged at Hisashi's hand, urging him to speed up once more as sirens flared into life behind them. Pulling Hisashi into a side street she recognised, Inko led him deeper into underbelly of Musutafu's night scene. Inko's a patrol could be littered with, well, litter, but often there were tipsy salary men or pedestrians who were easy targets bumbling about on the street.

Things were more dangerous at night; the darkness often skewed one's perception of objects. What was once a shaded area in direct sunlight became a concealed treasure trove of uncertainty once the sun had set. People treaded carefully at night, unsure as to what the shadows may hide, and side streets were where Orbit apprehended those who wished to cause harm.

Orbit was there – a starry guardian – to oversea that these bumbling people walked safe streets or had a place of refuge, and she would not have it any other way.

Tired of deliberating, Inko made up her mind and took a sharp right. Hisashi swung himself around the corner of another street helplessly behind her. Inko slowed her pace, feet hitting the red glow of lights on the concrete rather than the harsh sterile white beams emitted by street lamps.

"Why are we here?" Hisashi whispered, knowing exactly what the rosy glow of the red lights and vibrant heart-motif neon signs overhead meant.

Inko shook her head. "Just keep quiet and try and hunch down on yourself if you can," she advised. Hisashi making himself a smaller target would help plead Inko's case.

Not that she wouldn't be taken seriously, but Hisashi didn't look like your average victim. For one, tiny specs of dangerous embers were released intermittently from between his lips as he huffed distastefully, and while one should never assume, he didn't seem the usual sort Orbit led to these places.

However, Love Hotels were places of discretion. Meeting a secret lover? Fine. Have some interesting kinks? They welcomed all and likely had a room to cater to your fetishes. Discovered that the charge for staying overnight in a Love Hotel is less than a fancy hotel for the same service (and more)? Tourists were welcome to stay as long as they liked.

Discretion was good, especially for Inko – and she needed to be able to hide people without secrets spilling from lips right now. On patrol as Orbit, Inko had directed many startled civilians to love hotels. In businesses that found sex and clandestine meetings to be lucrative, there was particular attention placed on safety. The way rooms were designed, the way staff were trained; all had to be intended for and moulded with customers in mind. Safety and consent were what mattered most, and if Orbit brought a shocked person in off the street, then the staff were already obliged to keep an eye on this person.

Usually, whenever Orbit directed someone into the red-light district, they would freeze up. Logically it made no sense; why go deeper into an area that might promote exactly what a victim was trying to flee? Yet, these places knew how to care for said victims. Usually, a quiet room was provided, and anyone who attempted to intercept the victim from their sanctuary discreetly dumped outside on the street while the authorities were called by a set of burly security guards.

Yes, a Love Hotel – while unorthodox – was the perfect place to lay low.

As soon as Inko directed Hisashi over the threshold of one hotel she was familiar with (looking over her shoulder to ensure that no police officers who were on foot had followed them into this labyrinth), the clerk behind the welcome desk straightened in recognition.

"Milady!" The woman beamed.

Inko nodded back. "Sasaki," she said. "Are you well?"

"Wonderful- oh Milady I've never had a job for so long." Sasaki's eyes widened as she took in Hisashi, who had clamped his hand around Inko's once more – still heaving for breath from their run. A knowing smile graced Sasaki's lips; "Milady, do you need a room?"

"I need _the_ room, if you don't mind," Inko corrected.

Sasaki's expression morphed into one of seriousness. "Right away, Milady. If you'd both like to follow me?"

Sasaki led the pair down a dimly lit corridor lined with various entries. No sounds could be heard, but it was safe to assume what may have been going on behind closed doors. The clerk paused momentarily, snatching one key out of many attached to a small metal ring that she carried.

Sasaki removed the key and handed it to Inko. When the latter deemed it safe for Hisashi and herself to leave, she would return the key to whoever was manning the front desk.

"Enjoy your stay," Sasaki chirped, smiling encouragingly at a still breathless Hisashi. "Please don't hesitate to call the front desk should you need anything."

"Uh… Thank you?" He replied.

Inko called after the retreating clerk. "My thanks, Sasaki. We should be gone around daybreak."

With that, Inko pulled Hisashi inside the room.

"What was that all about?" Hisashi asked, watching as Inko removed her heavy leather overcoat and slung it across the foot of the bed. She hummed, and Hisashi repeated his question.

"'Milady'?" Inko queried, and he nodded. "I helped Sasaki out of a nasty situation about a year ago. She had no where safe to go to, so I brought her here. The owner decided to take her own as a fulltime member of staff, seeing as she has first hand experience with… certain types of people."

"Yes," Hisashi probed, "But what prompted the nickname."

Inko shrugged. "I don't know. I presume she felt thankful for how I've helped her. Whenever I need to bring someone to a safe space, I usually bring them here." **[1]**

That wasn't always the case. If events had escalated too far, Inko would generally neutralise the threat by giving them a good thump with her mallet and would wait beside the victim to keep them calm – whisking herself away as soon as the police drew near. If Inko was helping someone to escape a risky situation from which they could pick up the pieces by themselves (or without her aid), she would lead them to the Love Hotels.

"A Love Hotel?" Hisashi iterated sceptically. "Really?"

Once again, Inko shrugged.

"They don't ask questions, they like to keep their customers safe, and it's unlikely that the police officers will follow a Vigilante into an area that's shady without back up." She smiled, "By which point, I've already left through the back entrance."

Hisashi sat on the prominent bed in the room. The latter was positively tame in comparison to others this hotel had, more akin to a piece of furniture in a normal hotel room than one that catered to specific tastes. A bland white bedspread, stretching across a wide mattress, glowed under the warm down lighting in the room – providing a safe, womblike feeling.

Though she could, and with lots of extra space to spare on the bed, Inko made no move to sit beside Hisashi. She shifted uneasily on her feet; her fingers toying with the key to their hotel room to distract her from how awkward she felt around him.

"Why bring me here then?"

Inko rubbed at her temples. "You were in danger, and I panicked slightly. Plus, you know too much."

"About you?"

"Yes, about me."

Hisashi chuckled warmly. "The thing is, Inko, I don't think I know _enough_."

He stood, smoothing a pair of sweaty palms over the knife-like creases in the front of his suit trousers. Inko's breathing hitched traitorously as he crossed the room to stand before her.

Hisashi loosed the top few buttons on his shirt, his breathing only now evened out from their mad dash earlier while Inko's was becoming erratic. "You met me this morning, why would you throw yourself into such danger. Why would you do so anyway without the correct training?"

Inko wished she'd bit her tongue as soon as the words tumbled from her mouth; "It's my job-"

"But it isn't, not really. So why?"

"Because it helps," she admitted, ducking her head to try and escape his intense gaze. "Because I feel like I'm doing something now, that I'd never been afforded – or wanted – before. Because you-"

She bit her lip. The green lipstick she wore smeared against her stark white teeth in granulated flecks.

Hisashi hummed, taking both of her hands in his. His palms were warm, if a bit clammy. Inko found she didn't mind the sensation that much.

"Does Vigilantism excite you?"

"Yes," she lisped back almost inaudibly.

"Do I…" He paused, cocking his head. "Do I excite you, Inko?"

Call it latent hormones, the effects of an adrenaline rush, or Inko herself just throwing caution to the wind once more, she shuffled closer so that she stood toe to toe with Hisashi. She raised her chin haughtily, narrowing her eyes behind her mask.

It sounded as though Hisashi was playing games with her – and Orbit, _Inko_ , could play games too. Game plans, patience, and flexing both her mind and Quirk to gain the upper hand were what saved her from tricky situations, and he (for the short time Hisashi had known her) should have known better.

"Perhaps," she answered coyly, and was rewarded by the trail of his hands against her sides. "Maybe it's just anger though? You did destroy a third of my weaponry in one breath earlier."

"My apologies," Hisashi said contritely, but his tone was spoiled by the growing, boyish grin on his face and the smoke that clung to his teeth. "I really should make it up to you," he continued, dipping his head down.

"Please do."

The removal of Orbit's costume was a method with less ritualism and fanfare than it was to try and put everything on.

Her makeup, finely painted and artfully dusted, would blur under a facial wipe as she removed it – as was per the usual in her cramped little bathroom at the end of patrols. Now her lipstick was smeared across Hisashi's mouth, and her mascara felt as though it was clinging to her sultry eyes in thick, cumbersome clumps. The leather overcoat Inko had deposited at the foot of the bed had been kicked to the floor at some point – likely when they'd toppled onto the bed to fumble with one another's clothes.

This wasn't like the movies said it would be – or like her usual routine – Inko thought as Hisashi unzipped the front of her suit and she shimmied to ease the fabric down past her hips. The supple jumpsuit hit the ground with a weightier thump than one might imagine; it still had the numerous arm pouches and the portable radio attached to the sleeves and waist. The radio released a faint crackle; a crackle that was soon muffled by Hisashi's trousers and belt being thrown on top of the jumble of garments.

Taking everything off was easier than putting them on, and while she readied herself and Hisashi's fingers danced over her skin teasingly, Inko wished she'd never have to collect her clothing from the floor. Not yet, anyway. She didn't want the moment to end – didn't want to cover herself now that Hisashi knew who she, and who Orbit, were. She was exposed well and truly, except for-

"Inko." Hisashi's fingers trailed over her stomach, and she barely restrained a giggle at the ticklish sensation. "You can leave your mask on."

Those words, possibly spoken out of concern for her never having to acknowledge she was a civilian woman playing at Vigilante, cut deeper than Inko thought they would. Hisashi was right to ask it of her though, she supposed. While he knew of her, her did not _know_ her – and the mask was the only thing stopping Inko from bearing all.

Or maybe… maybe it was for a different reason. Their current position was already precarious enough, yet Inko felt her face flush at the realisation of another meaning for his words. A cheeky giggle burbled in her throat.

She coughed, trying to stop her laughter in its tracks. Her green eyes flashed with mischief. "Does… does my mask _excite_ you, Hisashi?"

"More than you'll ever know," he answered.

* * *

Afterwards, when Hisashi believed that Inko (her mask barely clinging to the skin beneath it) was fast asleep, she felt him shift in the bed beside her. A warm hand caressed the skin of her side, rubbed tender circles at her hip, and trailed lengthways to the snarled tangle of her tinted hair.

"Tell me about yourself," she whispered, feeling his lips press against the top of her head and not expecting him to answer.

She wanted to know more about him, wanted to know, desperately, more than she knew already. The little things like how his hair grew even wilder the more you ran your fingers through it, or why he had scars down his chest like someone had flung molten metal at his skin. She wanted to explore his past and their future together, if he would let her, and expand the knowledge she had so far.

Hisashi's mouth had tasted like a bonfire – not that Inko went around kissing many of those – and now, as he spoke mere centimetres from her face as she rested her head in the crook of his neck, she could smell the scent as it clung to his lips.

He had been silent for a while, and Inko assumed she wasn't going to be getting an answer to her question. She felt herself beginning to drift off into slumber.

"I'm supposed to be getting married, but you, my dear Inko, are making this very hard for me."

Sleepily, Inko's eyes fluttered back open. When she'd thought about getting to know him, she hadn't expected _this_. "I had my suspicions that you were involved in something dodgy, but premature bigotry wasn't the first thing that came to mind."

Hisashi lurched, rocking the mattress and nearly whipping away the covers tucked under Inko's arm. "I thought you were dosing."

"I was," Inko yawned, her mask pulling against the tender skin under her eyes. "I'm not now. Marriage?"

She rose to sit up in bed, adjusting the pillows behind her so that she could rest against the cold leather headboard. Hisashi slipped from beneath the sheets and fiddled with the room's down lighting, mustering up the courage to speak.

"My parents are quite wealthy," he said eventually, joining Inko under the covers once more and tucking the sheets around the both of them securely. "When you ran into me yesterday, we'd run into a little… trouble."

Inko waited for him to continue, rubbing her toes against the silken sheets.

"You have to understand, when it comes to business and family to my parents, business comes first. The only way that family gains importance to them is when family concerns business – can help strengthen and secure new deals."

Inko filled in the blanks. "They're marrying you off."

"Yes," Hisashi admitted. "And I was ready for it too. The man you discovered trying to assault me was from a third party – one that wished to stop the alliance between my father's and my fiancée's family business. I'd had a call when you met me earlier in the day to expect some interference, but I didn't think they'd go so far as trying to take me out."

He laughed breathily. "Then there was you, you brilliant, brave woman. I could hardly believe my eyes when I realised it was you clouting someone for me. I must say the stars are a lovely touch."

If he'd told her that to begin with, then maybe – just maybe – Inko would have been placated. Maybe she would have accepted Hisashi's story for what it was and have sympathised about being forced into an arranged marriage. Would have swallowed his compliments about Orbit's costume. Now though, she couldn't help how disgusted she felt with herself and the swirling, loathsome thoughts that eddied in her mind.

How desperate did you have to be – how starved of attention – that you jumped into bed with someone who was taken?

For once, Inko wondered why she was always punished for being selfish. Was it so wrong of her to desire things for herself, or to want to forge her own (though perhaps, misguided) path? Why was it that Mitsuki could demand, and demand, and demand, and get what she wanted? Why did Mitsuki get to have the perfect life – the husband and the child?

All Inko had ever received for her ambition was the death of her remaining parent, crippling loneliness, a slew of nosy neighbours, and a major secret that thanks to Hisashi's appearance may not be so secret anymore.

Why was it that Inko Midoriya got the short end of the stick? The unhappy ending? The scraps? Why was it that when she achieved a tiny sliver of happiness there was a larger portion of regret attached?

Inko blinked back her tears, and Hisashi drew his knuckles across her top of her thigh comfortingly. "You make things so difficult for me, Inko. I'm at a loss for what to do."

Disentangling herself from him, and shuffling out from underneath the bed covers, Inko fumbled in the low light for her clothes.

"Inko, what are you-" Hisashi started as she tugged her underclothes and jumpsuit harshly over her body.

Inko threw on her boots, checked that she had the remaining pieces of her equipment, and pulled on her coat.

"I should think that it's very clear what you have to do Hisashi," she told him, swinging her starry mallet through the air a couple of times warningly.

"But –"

"I would have been happy with you. I could feel it in my bones," she murmured, watching the surprise flit across Hisashi's features in the warm orange lighting. "But I will not wait while you're engaged to someone else. I could be selfish – I often am – but not this time. I not…"

"You're not, _what_?"

"I'm not going to play second fiddle, or watch you play with her, whoever she is, even if your marriage is arranged," Inko snapped. "Goodbye Hisashi. Please leave the room key with Sasaki on your way out."

"Inko-" He protested, hopping around while trying to pull on his trousers.

But Inko was already out of the hotel room and booking it home.

* * *

Slinking over the balcony railings and through the open door into her apartment, Inko took great pleasure in pulling off her boots and mask and striding into the living room despite her terrible mood.

Home was always a good, comforting place to be when you felt broken and alone.

"What time do you call this?"

Inko froze. She had forgotten all about Mr Takiyama. She turned slowly, rubbing at her neck and twinging as the heel of her palm hit a sore spot. Inko had a fairly good idea what that meant, seeing as Hisashi had nuzzled and nipped that area frequently. Inko would be wearing high-necked tops, scarves, and jumpers for the next few weeks.

"I know I'm late but-" the tops of Mr Takiyama's ears were red, and he clutched his own radio with a white knuckled grip – as though the device had somehow offended him. "Mr Takiyama, are you okay?"

The elderly man coughed and rose stiffly to his feet. "If you're behind schedule or run into trouble, then call it in and let me know – and for Kami's sake Inko, turn your radio off next time."

"What do you… oh no…"

Thankfully, Mr Takiyama didn't deign that this conversation should proceed any further and went to see himself out. Inko grabbed for her radio; horrified to find that from Hisashi's and her own impatient undressing the device attached to her belt had been switched on.

 _How much did he hear?_ She wondered, before remembering the flush along the tops of Mr Takiyama's ears. _Everything then…_

Mortified, Inko flew to the hallway and caught Mr Takiyama just before he'd slipped his other shoe on.

"I'm so sorry," she apologised with a deep bow.

"Yes, well," Mr Takiyama cleared his throat. "Keep it switched off, y'hear?"

Inko nodded solemnly, her face aflame. The bites and welts along the skin of her neck stung as much as her ashamed, red cheeks.

"And Inko?" She straightened from her bow. Mr Takiyama looked her squarely in the eye. "He didn't deserve you anyway."

The next thing Inko did the following day was replace all of her beads. Only then could she return to active duty. While a part of Inko wished she could do anything but, she threw herself back into Vigilante work with a single-minded vigour.

It was easier to do that than to pay further attention to her body's needs and wants; easier to throw herself into the cold and the danger than to keep track of silly things like emotions. She could pretend that Orbit wasn't affected, unlike she was. The joys of hiding behind a mask, Inko supposed.

The streets were growing colder as autumn drew near, and Inko swapped out her lightweight gloves for a specialist pair of mitts consisting of reinforced rubber pads and warm woven fabric. They were likely intended to be used as gardening gloves but served to keep Inko's hands toasty-warm all the same.

It had been two months since her encounter with Hisashi. Whatever trouble he'd been in initially had been swept under the metaphorical carpet, because Inko had seen hide nor hair of him. She would be lying if she said she didn't keep an eye out for that familiar mop of curls or his roguish grin, and her heart panged with fantasies of him abandoning everything just for her – that maybe he'd slide a ring over her finger instead of a business associate's.

In another life, perhaps he would have. Inko shook her head stubbornly. No, dreams and fantasies concerning people other than herself would never be a reality. The only one Inko Midoriya could truly fashion and shape into her ideals was herself – _barely_.

This was who she'd decided to become, this was the path she walked.

Orbit would patrol the streets and after her shift Inko Midoriya would weep alone in her bed and plaster on a smile for her neighbours. This would be how she'd live her life for now, and for now it would be enough. It would have to be enough, because Inko was uncertain what fresh disappointment would await her should she selfishly want more from her life.

One morning, Ms. Ametsuchi came calling. Inko had only managed to snatch three hours of sleep after her patrol before a short shift at a local general store, and instantly fell asleep on her sofa once she'd returned home. Forcing her lips into a genial smile was hard to do when you were heartbroken and doddering around on limited sleep.

"I'm sorry for waking you," the bunny-eared neighbour said sheepishly, worrying one lopped ear between her hands. "But I have an appointment to attend and Usagi's gone down with a fever. He insists that he's fine without me or someone else watching him but…"

Inko sighed. "You'd rather someone be there."

"Yes, exactly," Ms. Ametsuchi agreed. "I feel rude asking, but would you be able to keep an eye on him for a couple of hours? I would ask Mr Takiyama but the pair of them don't exactly see eye to eye."

It was true. Ever since Usagi had sent several of Mr Takiyama's plant pots flying, the elder had refused to have anything to do with the boy. Maybe it was childish of the older man, but Usagi wasn't exactly a child who could be excused for 'funny Quirk episodes' anymore; Usagi was a preteen with a warbling, cracking voice that sent Inko into hysterics whenever he spoke. Ms. Ametsuchi san had such a gentle, lilting quality to her voice, and her son, despite having the sweet exterior of a bunny rabbit (his head and cotton tail, at least) was likely to have this deep rumbling timbre totally incongruent to his appearance once he grew.

Inko was going to get a kick out of it while it lasted. It wasn't as though she had a lot to smile and laugh about these days.

"It's fine, I can watch him," she said finally to Ms. Ametsuchi's relief. "Is he up to sitting at my place, because I'd feel very rude falling asleep in your home."

"Nonsense," Ms. Ametsuchi tittered, slapping Inko lightly on the arm. "Though I assume he'd like to get out of the house for a bit."

A coughing and monumentally fed-up Usagi was hustled into Inko's living room. Ms. Ametsuchi placed a space comforter, and a large box of tissues beside her sulking son on Inko's couch. Thanking Inko profusely for looking after her child once more, Ms. Ametsuchi hurried her way out of Inko's apartment.

"So," Inko drawled. "Do you feel nauseous?"

Usagi shook his head. "Not really, just feel kinda rough."

"I don't have to find a bucket or anything then?" She queried, and Usagi shook his head once more. There was a worrying red tint to his cheeks, especially as it was paired with a dull lustre to his fur and the sickly pallor of the skin at the back of his hands. "Have you got a temperature?"

"Mm…" Usagi grunted.

"Fancy some ice cream then to cool you down?"

Usagi brightened; " _Now_ you're talking!"

* * *

Usagi was finally dosing under the comforter his mother had left with Inko, a cool damp cloth laid across his forehead as he curled up at one end of the sofa. Inko propped her feet on a low-down coffee table that was littered with popsicle sticks, melted, sugary drippings, and plastic wrappers.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time to try and cool and calm Usagi down with the promise of sugar, but Inko had a feeling Ms. Ametsuchi wouldn't leave her son with her anymore if Inko returned him more hyper than he'd come.

Plus, there was a little nugget of wisdom tugging at the back of Inko's mind and ricocheting around her head with what sounded very much like her own mother's voice. 'Starve a fever, feed a cold,' it said, and Inko groaned. Had she worsened Usagi's condition?

The preteen let out a sniffly snort and bunched the blanket further over his shoulders. Maybe not then.

Inko blamed her poor ideas on her even poorer coping mechanisms. She'd fallen into the habit of drowning her sorrows and worries with food even since her mother had passed away. Inko had been put in charge of making meals early on by her father, and if her portion sizes were disproportionate from what they should have been, he didn't comment.

Leftovers were useful, and the remainder of a hearty meal was better to snack on than junk food, correct? That was the way Inko had seen it at the time, but since she had grown up she'd had to control her eating habits better.

Inko knew that as Orbit – who demanded Inko to be the pinnacle of fitness so that she wasn't arrested – she had to reassess how and what she consumed. That did not stop the petty adult in Inko ascertaining that there were no parents in her life (… how she sometimes longed there were…) and that she could buy and eat whatever she wanted.

Grocery shopping and her battle of wills was a nightmare. Of course, there were the necessities she had to buy but Inko still felt a vindictive flash of childish glee at impulsively placing sweets and snacks in her shopping basket. The popsicles had been one such product she'd nonchalantly placed on the till's counter, trying to act blasé about it while the cashiers were probably wondering why she was acting so shiftily.

It hadn't been too bad of a binge though. Out of the box of six, Usagi and she had each ate three. The meagre offering of sugar had been enough to break Usagi out of his funk, and Inko had felt a little better herself. Though now, however, there was a sickly feeling creeping up inside of her.

Knocking snapped Inko away from the strange, sickly sensation, and she hurried to her feet to catch whoever it was at the door – hopefully Ms. Ametsuchi. Inko cursed herself for not hiding the popsicle wrappers sooner. Ms. Ametsuchi would think she was setting a horrid example for Usagi, and while the child played on her last nerve at times, Inko couldn't dispute she didn't like Usagi's company.

"Inko-"

Inko slammed the door shut in alarm.

What was Hisashi doing on her front doorstep?!

Timidly she peered through the peephole. He was still stood there. It was really him. Had he called it off – had he decided that herself and how Inko made him feel was more important than money?

Or was it all too good to be true?

Inko felt sick again. How had he even found her?

She dashed into the living room, trying her best to hastily spruce things up a little before tearing down the hall into her bedroom. Inko snatched the portable radio out of her wardrobe, pressing down a button and speaking quickly into the receiver.

When she returned to the hall to open the door, raised voices could be heard on the walkway outside.

"-doesn't want you here-"

"I'll be the judge of that."

Inko cleared her throat and opened the door a crack. "You can both come in," she told Hisashi and her stalwart defender, Mr Takiyama. "But you'll have to not raise your voices – Usagi's staying with me and he's not very well."

Mr Takiyama grunted, shambling his way inside. Hisashi hesitated on the front step.

"Inko, I-" Something shiny glinted on his left hand.

"Come in, Hisashi."

Letting two grown men (one elderly and enraged, and another who was married and liable to spit fire everywhere) and a slumbering, sickly child sit in her living room while she brewed tea in the next room over was a more surreal experience than Inko could believe.

"There we go," she placed two steaming mugs on the coffee table and cradled her own between her hands. "Why are you here, Hisashi?"

"I couldn't just leave it be, Inko," he said, watching the steam curl skywards from his own mug. "I… I want-"

Mr Takiyama snorted. "We know what _you_ want. You want to have your cake and eat it-"

"That's unfair-"

"And what about what's fair for Inko?" Mr Takiyama spat.

"Please don't shout," Inko hushed them softly, watching Usagi stir slightly.

"Inko I'd say is pretty capable of looking after herself – she's a Vigilante after all, and not to mention a grown woman," Hisashi bit back smugly. "Look, Inko, will you give me another chance?"

"How can I give you another chance? You have a ring on your finger, Hisashi," she said dumbly. "You married her then?"

The look on Hisashi's face suggested he would have rather burned himself to ashes with his own flames before agreeing to acknowledging his arranged marriage, but he grumbled out an affirmation that, yes, he was a married man now.

"It's not working between us, Inko. She's… she's not you, and I can't. I just can't." Hisashi shook his head, balling his fists in his lap.

"So, I'm to be the other woman then? How do you think that makes me feel, to be the bit on the side while you've gone off and married someone else – vowed to devote yourself to someone else, huh?"

Inko inclined her head regally, looking but not feeling powerful at that very moment. She longed to palm Orbit's mallet; to swing it at Hisashi's face and release her irritation. "You chose her – chose your family's business – over me, and I know where I stand."

"It's not like that," Hisashi stammered, ignoring Mr Takiyama's dark chuckle.

It was going to hurt to say these words, but Inko pressed on anyway. "I don't _want_ you, Hisashi. Please leave me alone from now on. If you could see yourself out?"

 _Please don't go_ , she thought as he drained his cup and rose from his chair.

 _Don't leave me,_ she pleaded internally as she heard him tread down the hall.

 _Come back and love me_ … Inko's tears began to fall with the slam of the front door.

"Child, are you alright?" Mr Takiyama inquired as Inko shook and shuddered in her seat.

Usagi yawned exaggeratedly from his perch on the couch. "Did I hear that right? Miss Inko's a Vigilante?"

"I think…" Inko lisped, catching Mr Takiyama's eyes. "I think I'm going to be sick."

She promptly vomited down the front of her jumper.

* * *

"Easy now," Mr Takiyama huffed, settling a freshly changed Inko back into her chair with a fresh mug of ginger tea – the latter to soothe her roiling stomach.

"I couldn't have caught anything off Usagi; Ms. Ametsuchi said he had a fever, not a vomiting bug," Inko clarified. "Plus, I haven't seen Usagi in a while, so I highly doubt I could have been infected just from two hours of sitting with him."

"I haven't been sick," said Usagi with his crackling voice. "So, you've not got what I have."

"Brilliant," Inko moaned, swallowing down some bile with a sip of tea.

Mr Takiyama snickered knowingly. "Of course, you're not ill. There's something else going on, but you're not ill."

Inko tried to understand what Mr Takiyama meant by that. There weren't a lot of things outside of a medical situation or inebriation that could cause vomiting other than-

"I can't be," Inko hissed, palming at her stomach. "We were _safe._ "

Hisashi, bastard though he was, had made sure to use protection. Inko's cycles were all over the place; a combination of constant stress, bad habits, and likely not being the most fertile person on the planet making her menstruation cycles spotty and hard to track. She'd assumed she be fine without any follow-up pills, having felt no warning signs or being able to track an incoming cycle.

She would not assume so lightly ever again.

"I'm going to need a test," she whispered, hanging her head. "Usagi, do you have your mother's contact number on hand? I don't really feel up to walking about at the moment, so I'm going to ask if she could do me a favour."

Usagi rolled his eyes, handing over a basic flip phone his mother had bought him after he'd thumped his feet and sulked enough. "I get it, you might be preggo, but you're seriously a Vigilante?"

"Yes!" Inko snapped, then dialled Ms. Ametsuchi's number.

"What do I ever do now?" Inko sobbed about an hour later on Ms. Ametsuchi's shoulder. "I don't want him to be part of my life anymore, but I also do, and now I'm having a baby and-"

"Deep breaths Inko," the other woman replied. She was still bemused at the situation she had been flung into – Inko and her other house guests having had to explain things in detail.

Though she older woman couldn't quite believe she'd been living next door to a Vigilante all these years, one thing she could believe in was that families raised by a single parent with a fantastic support network thrived.

"It's all going to be fine," Ms. Ametsuchi soothed.

"Do I even tell him?"

"That's entirely up to you. Do you want this child though?"

Inko thought about the positive pregnancy test resting in the bathroom sink while she wept. She thought of lucky Mitsuki and her swelling stomach, and of Hisashi; who was one consecutive let down after another. Despite that, and all the hurt he'd brought, Inko couldn't find it in her to hate him like she justifiably should.

She couldn't hate a child composed of both Hisashi and herself, a child that had been conceived by accident and who would be kept from having a conventional upbringing due to circumstance.

If Inko Midoriya couldn't have what she _wanted_ but could have a piece of that happiness which was rightfully half her own, then she would take it. She would hoard this precious happening like a dragon with its gold, and she would never let it go.

"I do." Her hands fluttered to her tummy – no noticeable bump there yet, but in time there would be. "I do."

"Then that is all that matters," Ms. Ametsuchi replied, leading Inko back to the living room so they could announce the news. Mr Takiyama and Usagi awaited them, the pair having managed to put their differences behind them in support of their neighbour. (However, Inko suspected that Usagi was only interested because of her newly revealed status.)

Inko nodded to the elderly gent and the preteen. Both broke out into wobbly smiles, mirroring her own.

Ms. Ametsuchi rubbed a comforting hand across the plain of Inko's back. "Believe me when I say we'll be here to help you every step of the way."

On a tepid summer's evening in July, Izuku Midoriya was born.

He was small, and oh so fragile. Green-tinted curls were matted against his head with fluid as he squirmed and wailed in the doctor's grasp. Inko was desperate to use her Quirk and pull her child towards her, anxious to hold him against her chest and never let go of him ever again.

Izuku was so precious, and he was her son. _Hers._ Not anyone else's, and he was so small and precious. She burst into tears as a nurse gently laid the infant at her breast; and suddenly the nine months of emotional turmoil, back ache, and swollen ankles, along with her uneasy labour had been worth it.

Izuku was more than worth it. He was irreplaceable. He was _everything_.

Inko was proudly filling in her son's birth certificate information for the registrar, but the pen in her hand stilled over the sections asking for Izuku's birthfather's details. It was then that Inko realised she had never known Hisashi's last name.

She'd known of his charm, and his appearance, and his circumstances, but she didn't know the last name of the man who had fathered her child. Izuku stirred in his little cot beside her bed on the maternity ward. A selection of congratulatory cards, 'It's a boy!' balloons, and an artfully arranged plant pot of pansies, crocuses, and primroses (Mr Takiyama's doing) were displayed on her bedside locker. **[2]**

Inko left the section blank.

She'd answer painful questions when Izuku asked them, and not a second sooner.

* * *

 **[1]** It's actually because I forwent using honorifics in this fic and couldn't find an appropriate equivalent to '-sama'. So we gon' use 'Milady' instead, like Orbit's some celestial monarch come to take arse and kick names.

 **[2]** Pansies are symbolic in flower language of 'thought', crocuses of spring-like flowers and 'children', and primroses with 'new life'.

* * *

 **A/N [14/9/2018] :** What's this, another update in under a week? Is the world ending?

Nope, I just felt really fired up about this fic for the first time in ages. _Late Hero Academia_ , which was supposed to update this week, has been put on the back burner because I'm not feeling inspired enough to write for it yet.

Has anyone been watching _Chio's School Road_? If you like that series, I've got a short one-shot up on AO3 you might enjoy reading, and another that I'm dabbling with too. Check out _Chio and the Fad_ on there.

I really can't write sexy-times, so if it seems glossed over in-text that's why. I just find writing anything remotely citrus-y uncomfortable, but I can write a good fluff fic! I think I did somewhat okay with the mounting sexual tension between Inko and Hisashi, though that could just be me thinking that...

And now, it is with great anticipation that I must turn to the reviews.

Hello again, **_RandomDude_**!

It kind of is because you're an anon reviewer, but if other people are reading these A/N's and finding my poor attempts at explaining how I write interesting, that's fine by me. I have fandom-phases too! Jeez, the other week I hopped back to _OHSHC_ for the first time in years. I get what you mean though; sometimes it's nice to take a break and allow works to flourish, or for new works to appear.

To be honest, I do get giddy when I receive reviews, and while it is nice to know your writing is appreciated I'm not holding anyone to reviewing immediately after a chapter goes up. If you scream excitedly at me, I will scream excitedly back, and all that jazz. None of my stories have ever really taken off – compared to some of the mega-reviewed and favourited fics on this site, that is. Truthfully, I don't know whether I want that or not? _You Only Tell The Truth_ had a slew of notifications the morning after I'd posted the first chapter, and it really freaked me out. I also don't know whether I'd like the pressure of so many people waiting on my shitty writing. (Moderately successful, is what I'm saying I'd like my stories to be. Why that took several sentences, I don't know…)

I don't know whether its because no one's dropped it in a review, but you seem to be the first person who noticed the slime Villain! _Finally,_ someone's noticed the cameo! Usagi is my fave boi and you can't change my mind otherwise. I do a lot of work with OC's, so I guess I'm just used to writing them convincingly? Hajime from _Late Hero Academia_ is currently one I really enjoy writing for, because she's a mix of oblivious and dead inside. Hari from _Pom-Pom Pom!_ Is another OC I love to bits, and I really should update that fic (it's been over a year) but I'm procrastinating on writing the mother of all final arcs.

I'm really crap with long winded writing. I do giant time skips because… and this sounds really bad… I have _zero patience_ to sit and write out trivialities unless they aid my story. I wasn't going to hang around and spout details about four years of Inko basically doing the same routine. I've set it as a goal to have this story finished in five chapters, therefore I have to be strict with what I'm typing. I needed to essentially get key parts of Inko's story down and nothing else.

A lot isn't known about Hisashi canon-wise, and to me he's just AU-fodder in this fic. His mysterious circumstances in canon, while paving the way for Dad Might, doesn't sit right with me… I want to know what he's been up to all this time, or if he's a major prat like he is in _Orbit_. Still, this story is AU, and I hope I've been able to twist their circumstances enough for that.

Mitsuki will return, but that's all I'm saying on the matter.

It may be a while until Chapter Five is out. Then again, it could be the following week. Who knows? Still, I hope I do it justice.

In the meantime, come natter with me on Tumblr! I'm **yuilhan-writes-things**.


	5. Chapter 5

**ORBIT**

* * *

 _5_

* * *

Since Izuku had been born, Inko had grown used to the sight of a bouquet of flowers on her door step every month. The precursor to said bouquet happened to be a blank white envelope pushed through her letter box; within which was a cheque addressed to Izuku with a handsome sum scribbled on it.

At first, Inko had panicked. She had punted the bouquet off of the balcony walkway – uncaring as to whether it hit someone walking below – and hurried inside to snatch a snoozing Izuku out of his cradle so that she could hold him securely against her chest.

Hisashi knew.

While disconcerted about how he knew exactly, because Inko hadn't been a Vigilante for the past five years without a heightened sense of paranoia helping to cover her tracks, Inko assumed that he'd discovered Izuku in the same manner he'd tracked her home down all those months ago. Hisashi had flashed his money around, and while Inko had been – and still was – careful to this day not to draw attention to herself, it hadn't been enough. Hence the flowers and the child-support cheques.

Inko hadn't wanted his help, and she resented the part of her that warmed at the thought of Hisashi still thinking about the both of them – especially now Izuku was in the picture. She hadn't needed his help, didn't really want the cheques, but it was pleasant to see that Izuku would not be overlooked in the event that anything happened to her.

Around the third month of monetary deposits, Inko took a leisurely stroll with Izuku in his pushchair to inner Musutafu. There she set up a savings account for her young son. Hisashi's money would sit in the account untouched unless Izuku needed or wanted anything. It would see him through college should he wish to attend one, or if he (heaven forbid) needed the money to pay off medical expenses, there would always be something in his bank account. Mostly, Inko hoped that Izuku would be comfortable. That he could live his life as he wished and not have to worry about bills or going hungry.

She did wonder though whether these cheques would ever stop. Hisashi had made no move, outside of acknowledging Izuku's existence somewhat, to pry Inko's child from her. Which she was glad for. She would not be held responsible for her actions should he try to take her precious little one away from her.

As if he could.

Mr Takiyama appeared to be a permanent fixture in Inko's small apartment. The crotchety old man had melted at the sight of Izuku's full head of matted, curly, green-tinted hair after visiting the maternity ward for the first time and had taken up residence in Inko's arm chairs during the long shift of night feeds ever since. It hurt a little – it should have been Inko's parents here helping her and getting to know their grandson rather than this _stranger_. But at two in the morning, while Izuku fussed and screamed and she couldn't get him to settle, Mr Takiyama's deep grumbling voice soothed both mother and son as he took charge; pushing Inko back to bed while he took care of Izuku.

Usagi was another person she hadn't expected to stay over as frequently as he did. The fourteen-year-old was interested in Inko's time as Orbit – which, after a month or so after she'd discovered she was pregnant, had whittled into nothing. Inko was unsure as to whether she'd ever fit into her Vigilante costume again, let alone fight crime.

Still, Usagi was enamoured with the idea of her and of having lived next door to a 'Hero' for the past few years. He quizzed her about her route, poured his attention over her gear, and inquired as to whether she or Izuku would ever conduct Vigilante work again.

"It's unlikely," Inko had said, Izuku dozing against her chest.

All Might had been more active than ever, and if that wasn't an indicator of the state of the world at the moment – a world where All Might was putting criminals behind bars just as quick as they were popping out of the woodwork – then Inko didn't know what was. Heightened levels of activity, from either Villains or Heroes, did not bode well for her; both as a civilian and as a Vigilante, she would be under constant threat either way.

Inko shook her head. Maybe one day, if it was necessary or if she had nothing else left to hold onto, Inko would pull on her costume and gear. "I have Izuku to think about now and it would be too dangerous. I don't want him to grow up without me here, so what if something happened on my rounds?"

Usagi's perked ears had drooped at the news, and Inko contemplated why he had been so invested in her story. "Usagi, you're not thinking of-"

"No, _no_ , not at all," he shook his head. "I'm… I'm thinking about support though. You were really cool with me back when Taka and I got kidnapped, and my Quirk isn't really helpful. I managed to help Taka though by following your instructions, so I thought I could help people that way too."

Inko ruffled the bunny-Quirked boy's fur between his ears. "I think that's wonderful, Usagi."

Izuku started fussing then, and any talk of future careers were swiftly forgotten. Usagi and his mother spoke some more, filled in the high school application forms together, and bound their small family tighter to Inko, Izuku, and Mr Takiyama. Ms. Ametsuchi had been right; she was there every step of the way, just as the older woman had promised.

Still, one day someone would take a look at Hisahshi's expenses, wonder why a large chunk was being withdrawn every month and disappearing, and hound his spending habits until they found out why he was paying so much at florists for flowers not addressed to his wife or clients, and essentially spiriting his money away for no good reason.

Sure enough, when Izuku turned one, the cheques ended altogether after one final lump sum. The amount bequeathed to Izuku made Inko inhale a sharp breath as she took in the multiple zeroes. There was enough to cover her son's welfare expenses up until he turned eighteen – possibly more.

Inko did not hear from Hisashi again after that. One final bouquet waited on the front door mat; a cluster of daffodils – rare and out of season, and very lonely looking outside on the front step. **[1]** They lived, prolonged by Mr Takiyama's reluctant care, for a further two weeks. Inko eventually threw the shrilled flowers away.

If Izuku wanted to know the details, then she would happily tell him. If Izuku wanted to find Hisashi once he knew, she wouldn't try and stop him. But for now, the message was clear. 'I can't see the both of you anymore.'

One thing Inko missed more than anything as a new mum was that she couldn't just up and run for hours on end now that she had a little one to put before herself. Usagi, back from high school for the day and bouncing a gurgling Izuku up and down on his knee, suggested she invest in a sturdier push chair –a 'running buggy', or so he'd said– and just push Izuku around in it when she ran. **[2]** Inko could fill a rucksack with anything she or Izuku might need, and while it was less convenient than the arm pouches she relied on, Izuku had a lot more kit and caboodle to haul around.

Extra nappies, nappy bags, spare feeding bottles, a few changes of clothes, packet upon packet of wet wipes… it was mind boggling how much one backpack could hold.

Inko ended up taking Usagi's advice. Donning her workout gear once more, Inko lowered Izuku into his new specialised stroller –the toddler facing her, to protect him from anything in Inko's path as she ran– and set off at a light pace.

Her intermittent exercising sessions (snatched when Usagi or Mr Takiyama babysat), napping whenever Izuku finally settled down, and the overwhelming exhaustion that came with being a new single mother hadn't helped Inko's endurance one bit. She had grown accustomed to sleepless nights when Izuku had fussy fits, so there still remained her strong mental ability, but her physical stamina was pathetic.

Inko made it as far as the park where she had met Hisashi before sliding to a halt and collapsing onto a bench, heaving for breath while Izuku giggled and gurgled. At least someone was enjoying the trip out.

She ripped open her backpack, wrestling with the plastic cap on her bottle of water. When her fingers finally had purchase and the seal gave, Inko chugged back half the bottle in a daze. Still struggling to catch her breath, Inko rose from the bench and began to pace around the park to try and stop her muscles from seizing up because she had stopped to suddenly. Izuku squealed as soon as he realised he was on the move again.

Feeling her breathing and pulse settle after a short loop of the grounds, Inko returned to her bench to finish off the rest of her water.

"You look like you needed that."

The water bottle slipped out of Inko's fingers in surprise; her running shoes received an impromptu shower.

"Ah, sorry- I," the stranger sat on the bench beside Inko blustered, scrabbling to his pockets for a tissue. Inko waved him off and placed the now-empty water bottle back into her bag.

"It's fine," she assured. He didn't seem like a creep, but Inko knew better than to lunge in heart-first while meeting male strangers in the park. It hadn't ended so well last time – apart from Izuku. Izuku was probably the best thing to happen during Inko and Hisashi's brief relationship. "I'm really out of shape."

Izuku gurgled, and Inko's cheeks dimpled under the force of her proud smile. "That's right, Izu! Mummy's really out of shape, isn't she?"

Dipping her hand back into her backpack, and after pulling away the plastic shower-cover from the where it covered Izuku's seat in the buggy, Inko handed the toddler a snack to nibble on. The soggy remains of a rusk were likely going to have to be wiped away from where Izuku had smeared it across his mouth and chest, but the latter latched onto the treat with vigour. Inko had had her water break from working hard, so it was only fair Izuku had a little reward for being well-behaved while she ran.

The stranger seemed quite smitten with the way her son was gnawing on his biscuit too. The limp blond bangs covered most of the stranger's rosy cheeks, but Inko could see how clearly Izuku had wrapped another person around his chubby little fingers. Perhaps any other mother would be worried about a grown man cooing over her child, but Izuku had apparently inherited his father's charm and unwieldy curly hair.

If the stranger had been smitten before, he was unlikely to ever escape Izuku's influence when the latter raised one pudgy rusk-smeared hand and waved. The blond stranger waved dazedly back.

"I'm going to have to watch this one when he's older," Inko smiled, finding a wet-wipe and cleaning up the great messy attempt Izuku had made with his snack. "Well, Izuku. I think it is time we got going again. It was nice to meet you… um?"

"Toshinori Yagi, Mrs- _Ms,"_ Mr Yagi corrected when he noticed the stark absence of a wedding band on Inko's finger.

"Inko Midoriya, and this is my son, Izuku." Said son burbled, and Mr Yagi's face crinkled up in delight.

Inko was going to be beating off Izuku's admirers with a stick when he was older. He'd already charmed Mr Takiyama, and even Usagi (who'd recently morphed into a grunting, sweaty fifteen-year-old). Who, after Mr Yagi, would Izuku conquer next? Would anyone be able to resists his bright green eyes, bubbly smile, and the lure of running one's fingers through his bouncy curls.

"It was nice to meet you, Mr Yagi." Inko folder the cover of Izuku's buggy back down. "Say 'Bai-bai!' Izuku."

'Buh' was the cute response, accompanied by a hefty spit bubble.

* * *

The next time Inko and Izuku ran into Toshinori Yagi was over a year later, this time by the seafront.

Inko's stamina had improved greatly, and she'd took to running further afar with Izuku – who, in a new buggy that accounted for his growth spurts, still loved being chauffeured. She tutted at the sight of a growing heap of fly-tipped material on the beach.

Inko slowed her pace, deciding that perhaps she'd pull Izuku from the buggy and let him toddle around the cleaner patch of the beach; then she remembered that Izuku was going through his first phase. Not the notorious terrible twos, in fact, Izuku was dealing with teething like a trooper. No, Izuku had recently seen the video of All Might's debut.

A trashy daytime television show had been recapping the chronology of the Heroes career, and Inko had been distracted with readying lunch for the two of them and a snoozing Mr Takiyama and had forgot to switch the channel over to afternoon cartoons.

That afternoon had sparked Izuku's love for All Might, and Heroes in general. Inko had bought him an All Might themed pyjama suit as a little gag gift the following week, but Izuku had yet to be pried out of the thing – even in public. It was getting to the point where Inko was seriously considered buying a fortnight's worth of the all-in-one suits, just so she could get Izuku to change without a fuss.

Realising, as Izuku kicked his legs in anticipation, that she had no choice now but to let her onesie-clad child loose on the beach, Inko sighed. "Come on then, Izu."

She lifted him out of the buggy, collapsed the latter, and settled Izuku onto her hip while she tried to juggle carrying him and the pushchair down the steps.

"Ms. Midoriya?" Inko startled. The weight of the buggy was lifted from her arm. "Let me take that for you."

"Oh- ah," Inko led the way down the steps to the beach. There, she set Inko down on the floor before he could squirm and wriggle out of her grip. "Thank you, Mr Yagi."

"Hi."

Mr Yagi rubbed at the back of his neck, craning his large frame down so that he could smile brightly at Izuku. "Hello there, little one."

Satisfied, Izuku nodded. He scuttled off to play with a few pebbles littered across the beach. Inko tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. "Don't go too far out, Izuku."

"My he's grown," Mr Yagi said, watching the two-year old let sand filter through the gaps between his fingers in awe.

"My neighbour would perhaps say he was a 'rum'un', but that's Izuku for you," Inko beamed. **[3]** "What brings you to the beach, Mr Yagi?"

"Oh, um, Toshinori is fine, Ms. Midoriya."

Inko's nose wrinkled good naturedly. "Inko is also fine, Toshinori."

Across the way, Izuku tottered unsteadily. The pebbles – for her held one in each little palm – fell from his grip as he tumbled to the sand. Sitting confusedly, Izuku looked around wildly for his mother. Inko smiled, Toshinori had to smother his chuckle, and with that Izuku was back on his feet again. No tears, no fuss. Inko sighed in relief.

"How are you both?" Toshinori inquired.

Fiddling with the straps on her backpack, Inko replied; "We're both well. And yourself?"

"Also fine."

Their conversation was stilted; simple chatter, such as the weather, disparaging those who had cluttered up the beach, and whether the prefectural council would do anything about it. Then the topic turned to Izuku.

"He's an All Might fan then?"

Inko smiled fondly. "Oh, yes. I can't seem to get him to wear anything than those onesies at the moment."

Toshinori rubbed distractedly at his chest – almost as though the area around his heart burned and he was trying to sooth it. "I'm sure he'll grow out of it."

"Knowing Izuku," said Inko, "He won't. And when he does eventually have a growth spurt, then we'll be in trouble."

Toshinori winced sympathetically. "A fan boy in the making then?"

Inko snorted. If only Toshinori Yagi _knew_.

* * *

When Izuku turned three, Inko began to look around the neighbourhood for decent nursery schools. There were two, and each had varying pros and cons.

The first was only a ten-minute walk away; close enough that she could drop Izuku off and not have to worry about commuting with a small child anywhere. This nursery, however, did not come as highly recommended as the other.

The second nursery, while superior according to reports and those who had used their services, was a forty-minute walk, or fifteen minutes by bus – and it would take Inko and Izuku a further five minutes to get to the closest bus stop to their home. A longer commute, and a commute that was more likely to go pear-shaped due to any disruption, but an altogether better environment for Izuku to be in.

"Try the closer one first," Mr Takiyama had said, amusing Izuku as the three-year-old showed the elderly man a drawing he'd made… of All Might. The scribbles barely resembled anything, but the use of the three primary colours gave who it was supposed to be away. The two wobbly rabbit-eared protrusions Izuku had drawn onto the figure's head confirmed it.

"But what if-"

"Just try it, and if it doesn't work out send him to the other one," the elder harrumphed.

Sorting the applications went smoothly, as did the introduction day at the nursery. The staff had seemed competent and welcoming, and like Inko, a few other parents present had brought along their children to the meeting. Izuku was socialising well, the other children weren't mean at all. It all seemed so good.

Then, the following week on Izuku's first full day at nursery, Inko ran into Mitsuki Bakugou and her child by the front gates. Of all the people who could have resurfaced again in Inko's life, it just had to be her – and her child was likely a carbon copy of Mitsuki too.

"KO?!" Mitsuki rushed forwards, embracing her.

"…Mitsuki… nice to see you?"

"It's been so long, too long – _oh. Who's this?"_

Both she and Inko looked down. Izuku was clutching the pleats of Inko's pale pink skirt in his hands. His eyes had begun to water; threatening to spill with tears. Usually Izuku was fine around strangers – he'd taken to Mr Yagi and could just about charm anyone with his wide smile and vibrant eyes – but sometimes he became overwhelmed and clung to his mother for comfort. Inko couldn't blame her son from shying away from Mitsuki; Inko wished she could do the very same.

"It's okay," Inko soothed, ruffling Izuku's curls. "Why don't you introduce yourself?"

Izuku bowed unsurely; his lower lip trembled as he uttered his name. Mitsuki stared at him dumbly.

"Wait, _Ko_. You had a kid?" The blonde exclaimed, and both mother and son shied away from the intensity of her voice.

"Yes, obviously" Inko snipped. She wrestled to keep her temper in check. "If you could just give me ten minutes to get Izuku settled, I will speak to you."

If she was being brutally honest, Inko was thinking about dropping Izuku off with his classmates, pleading to whichever carer wasn't busy that she desperately needed to use the staff toilets, and launching herself out of the window should there be one – all so that she could escape talking with Mitsuki. It probably wouldn't deter the woman for long though.

Unfortunately for Inko, there was no window in the staff toilets. She would have to face Mitsuki outside whether she liked it or not.

Inko squared her shoulders, stuck her chin in the air, and walked out of Izuku's new nursery centre pretending to have confidence she did not currently possess.

"I have to say, this is a turn up for the books," Mitsuki chattered, blowing the steam away from the top of her coffee. She and Inko had relocated to a small café, not far from where they'd dropped the kids off. "Izuku's got to be around the same age as Katsuki – but we hadn't seen you again since that day."

"There's three months or so between them," Inko said, stirring a packet of sugar into her own beverage and going ham on the pot of cream the waitress had set out with their mugs to ease the bitterness away. "Izuku was a bit of a surprise, but a welcome one."

"I can imagine." 'No Mitsuki,' Inko thought, 'No you can't.' "So, you're seeing someone or…?"

"Izuku's father isn't in the picture anymore," Inko replied tersely. Perhaps too tersely, but Inko really didn't want to be reminded of everything she could have had – which, coincidentally, Mitsuki possessed. "He hadn't been since we first slept together."

"You mean-"

Inko nodded. "Izuku was a surprise, but he was a welcomed one."

"I… I see…"

'No, you don't,' Inko thought snidely. She tipped back her coffee cup, draining the liquid quickly. Inko could just about picture what Mitsuki would do with this information. Likely run home to her husband and mouth off about Inko behind her back again, while appearing as all sunshine and smiles to the woman in question in public.

Yes, Inko Midoriya was a single, unwedded mother of one. Her child had been the product of a one-night stand with a business man's betrothed heir. She had no family to speak of other than her little one and the non-blood relations she adopted into her life.

What Inko couldn't see though, was that perhaps Mitsuki's life – that she desired and saw as perfect – may not have been as ideal as she had thought, and that maybe Inko Midoriya had all she'd never need in her life right there in front of her. That she had stumbled across a group of people who had shaped her future for the better. It was only now that Inko was beginning to realise that she wasn't all alone anymore.

"Apologies Mitsuki, but I'm in a bit of a rush." Inko stood, smoothing down the ribbed hem of her cardigan and fiddling with a few strands of her hair that had stuck to her jaw. "I may see you later though when it's time to pick the boys up?"

Mitsuki nodded silently. Inko left the café hurriedly, and she did not look back.

* * *

Meeting with Mitsuki was, thankfully, reserved only for the mornings and afternoons Inko took and picked Izuku up from day care. This civil ten-minute dance of banal conversation, prying their children away from one another, and exchanging 'Goodbye's was what they stuck to; no more coffee dates, or trying to be buddies again. And they had stuck to it for well over a year now.

Things changed though, because, somehow, Izuku had managed to befriend the boisterous Katsuki Bakugou. Inko wondered if her family line was cursed, or if she had killed a priest in a former life.

Katsuki had been another unexpected addition to Inko's somewhat stable routine; often demanding to go home and play with Izuku. Inko didn't mind hosting the boys' playdates – Katsuki would show his heart of gold out from underneath his mother's influence, often trying to help Inko in the kitchen while she prepared snacks for the two boys and Izuku chittered on about Quirks. The trouble came though whenever Mitsuki or Masaru came to pick Katsuki up.

Heaven forbid Inko ever have to do the opposite; Izuku was likely going to be held captive in the youngest Bakugou's bedroom until Inko could figure out a way to part the two from one another for the night.

While Inko was glad Izuku had a friend his own age, why couldn't it have been any else than Mitsuki Bakugou's child? Things were going to go badly in this friendship; Inko could feel her gut roiling with the nagging suspicion that it would – just as Mitsuki and her own's friendship had dissolved.

Sure enough, things came to a head after Katsuki's fourth birthday, with the emergence of Katsuki's Quirk. It was as though Mitsuki's teenage temper had manifested itself in little Katsuki's sweat glands. It was indeed silly of Inko to superimpose mother onto son, but all Inko could see while Katsuki lorded his new 'strong' Quirk over his peers at the nursery school was Mitsuki – and Inko did not like what she saw.

In the end, it all came down as to whether Katsuki would turn out just like his mother, and whether he would ever turn against Izuku. It would shatter Inko's child should Katuski do that; Izuku was captivated by the sparks the blond boy could produce, just as he was still captivated by Heroes and Quirks and _being_ a Hero.

Inko wondered if she let slip that she was a Vigilante, would Izuku think she was cool too?

Shaking her head, Inko marched down the sidewalk. She stood beside Mitsuki just inside the outer fence of the nursery school, anxiously waiting for when Izuku and Katsuki would burst out of the door with their rucksacks in hand. Huge happy grins would stretch along their mouths, and Inko would be wrong. There was nothing to say that Katsuki took more after his father, and Masaru had come across as a fairly level-headed individual in the handful of times Inko had met him.

When the other children filtered out and hurried home with their parents, Inko felt a sharp stab of worry. Her eyes flicked to Mitsuki, who was frowning at the front entrance of the building. When a carer appeared at the door and beckoned the two mothers inside, a chill ran down Inko's spine. Had she been right to be suspicious of the Bakugou's and their behaviour after all? Had something happened to Izuku?

"We're not entirely sure what happened," the carer said solemnly. Inko fussed with the dressing wrapped around Izuku's right forearm. "Izuku is insisting that he asked Katsuki to show him his Quirk, and Katsuki will not answer us."

"Oi, brat," Mitsuki huffed. "What did you do to poor Izu?"

" _He_ asked me to do it," Katsuki snapped back with surprising ferocity.

Mitsuki's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Why would Izuku ever ask you to burn his arm? Tell me the truth, brat."

Katsuki snootily turned his head, lower lip jutting out stubbornly. Inko could feel Mitsuki bristling. She hung her head, ruffling a hand through Izuku's hair. Like mother like son. Inko had been right after all.

"Izuku," she began. "Did you ask Katsuki to use his Quirk on you?"

Izuku cocked his head to the side, big green eyes blinking owlishly at her. "I guess? I wanted to see it though – it's really cool."

"See?" Katsuki sniffed, much to Mitsuki's ire.

"Brat, you don't use your Quirk on other people," the blonde woman returned. "I'm so sorry about this Ko, Masaru and I will speak with him later."

"Don't talk 'bout me like I'm not here," Katsuki protested, batting at Mitsuki's glycerine-coated hands as she grabbed for his wrist and led him outside.

Inko had hoped that first incident had been the end of it, and she sat Izuku down once they'd returned home to ensure that Katsuki had not hurt her son on purpose. An accident could be understood and forgiven; children with volatile Quirks were more likely to use their powers and lash out if panicked, or if they were showing off and suddenly lost control. Katsuki's blast was rather precise, almost as though the scorched-on palm marking on Izuku's skin had been planned by either, or both of them.

Izuku had quietly admitted to her eventually that he'd wanted to see what Katsuki's Quirk could do but knew that the pair would get in trouble for trying out the mini-explosions on furniture or equipment in the day care centre. Izuku had rolled up his sleeve, claiming that Katsuki would not hurt him. The blistered and angrily flushed skin underneath his burn cream and bandages begged to differ.

However, a few weeks after the first incident, Izuku returned home with his uniform scorched, and months later when Inko walked Izuku home she noted he kept rubbing at the area atop the left side of his rib cage. Inko had been worried as of late; since Izuku's fourth birthday had passed, he had yet to present his Quirk. Some children were late bloomers, but other kids wouldn't understand that. Not having a power when everyone else did had to upset Izuku a little, and it was possible his classmates could be turning him away because of his differences.

"Are you alright?"

Panicked, Izuku flailed. "It doesn't hurt that much! Promise!"

Inko paused. " _What_ doesn't hurt too much?"

Izuku paled, eyes growing wide. He bit his lip so fiercely Inko thought he might draw blood. Inko sighed. They were close to their apartment block now, and she forwent asking any more questions until they were safely tucked away inside.

Inko settled her son onto the sofa and switched on the afternoon cartoons he liked to watch. She brought a clean sweatshirt (All Might themed, naturally) from his room. "Izu, I need you to change so I can wash your Uniform, okay?"

Izuku, distracted by his shows, tugged off the uniform required by his nursery school. A cheap move, but Inko was not about using them; she _was_ a (former) Vigilante after all.

"Izuku, who did that to you?" Inko asked, knowing full well who had created the searing red mark on Izuku's torso. Izuku did not answer, and Inko found she had all the answers she needed.

"He said I was useless," Izuku whispered.

"Why would Katsuki say that?"

Izuku swallowed audibly. "Because I don't have my Quirk and I'm a useless Deku."

For the evening and following morning, Inko internalised her rage. She made Izuku's favourite – Katsudon – for dinner, tended to his burn, and ran him an All Might bubble bath overloaded with glittery foam. As she tucked him into bed that night she whispered of how brave Izuku was, but she also murmured softly to him that it was a mother's job to know about things that could be hurting their children, and that bravery did not always mean dealing with problems by yourself.

Hypocritical of her, perhaps, but Izuku was not Inko. If she could prevent him from making her destructive mistakes, then she would.

"Mums are like Heroes then?" Izuku questioned groggily, and Inko hummed.

This mum was a Hero. Kind of. Inko much preferred being a Vigilante and fighting dirty.

* * *

Katsuki had been dropped off at nursery earlier than Izuku that day, so Inko had no way of cornering Mitsuki or Masaru that morning. She asked to be let out of work earlier than usual (having taken up part-time shifts at a convenience store to help pay for the apartment's utility bills), and determinedly waited in ambush for either of the Bakugous to turn up and collect their son.

"How dare you," Inko seethed, as soon as Mitsuki stepped through the front gate. "You said that you would sort this-"

"Ko-"

" _Don't you 'Ko' me_ – you said you would sort this, said you'd speak with your son about his behaviour."

Mitsuki shook her head. The spiked cut of her bangs fluttered with the motion. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I could forgive the first time it happened, young children have trouble controlling their Quirks – but months after that, Mitsuki? And Izuku's still coming home with burn marks on his clothes and skin?" Inko fumed.

"Inko I have no idea what you're talking about," Mitsuki replied waspishly, drawing herself upright and towering over Inko's short frame.

"Your _son,_ " Inko bit, "Is still causing physical harm to _my_ son. You said you would sort this out Mitsuki, but you've obviously failed to do that. Izuku is so shaken up about this Mitsuki; just because he's a late bloomer, your son thinks it is appropriate to label my child as Quirkless – not that there would be anything wrong with that if he was."

"Katsuki's just a little tyke," Mitsuki had started to say, but then the children were released from the day care centre's rooms, and a triumphant looking Katsuki was trailed after by a singed, dejected Izuku. "Inko, I… I didn't think-

"That's right Mitsuki, you didn't think. _You never do!"_

They were drawing quite the fair bit of attention from the other parents, and Mitsuki shuffled uncomfortably under their scrutiny. "Hey, that's uncalled for. Can we not do this here?"

"Where else should we do this Mitsuki? Back at your home so Katsuki can taunt my child even further? I don't think so," Inko laughed disbelievingly. She scooped a sniffling Izuku up into her arms, cradling him against her chest. The hot splash of his tears against her neck had Inko grinding her teeth together in irritation. Could Mitsuki not see what Katsuki was doing – what effect his aggressive behaviour had on other children?

"I think maybe you need to take the kid gloves off, Ko. Most children aren't afraid of a little roughhousing," Mitsuki replied; Katsuki stomped his feet impatiently, raring to get home.

"'roughhousing'… is that what you think this is?" Inko murmured, horrified. "Your child is bullying mine and you think it's just a simple case of boys being boys– oh Katsuki's just given Izuku another burn. Can't be helped, _boys will be boys,_ right?!"

Mitsuki shook her head once more. "I don't have to listen to this."

Inko's mocking laughter followed after her. "That's it, Mitsuki. Do what you always do when things don't go your way with me; _run._ "

Inko had drawn a little too much pleasure from lashing out at Mitsuki. Unlike when she was eighteen, Inko did not collapse in a flood of tears and wish Mitsuki would forgive her. She tucked Izuku closer to herself – if possible – and carried him the entire way home. As always, the correct motion had been to cut the toxic people out of her, and now Izuku's, life.

"I think I'm going to have to change nurseries," she said to Mr Takiyama that night. Izuku was fast asleep, pressed against her legs on the sofa. She would have to move him to his bed soon, so that he could be more comfortable.

"Do what you think best," Mr Takiyama mumbled, scratching at his neck. The elderly man had been off with everyone for a short while; less quick tempered and crotchety, but more likely to zone out and not participate in conversation. He fell asleep quite often when babysitting Izuku, not that the boy would mind; he could quite easily occupy himself with thoughts about Heroes or his drawing pad and crayons.

"I don't think I know what's best," Inko muttered. "But he needs moving. Mitsuki can't control her own son, so and I obviously can't rely on the staff to separate the two of them. Maybe we should all move? Buy a house somewhere and start over?"

"You can't protect him from everything, Inko," Mr Takiyama replied wearily. "Even though we both know you'd give it your best shot. Change his nursery school, but there's no need to go to such drastic lengths, you foolish child."

Wetly Inko coughed. Tears collected at the corner of her eyes. "I don't want him turn out like me."

Mr Takiyama hummed. "Well, it's too late for that. He's already got your hair colour and leaky eyes."

Inko's neighbour had been correct in saying that; Izuku cried as much as she had done in her youth, back before Mitsuki had shattered her view of the world and her father had died. She was overreacting though. she'd been trying to pull a classic Mitsuki move without realising – running away from her problems instead of sticking it out and trying to face issues head on.

Inko would ring around and make some inquiries about changing Izuku's schools in the morning. For now, she was going to try and calm down, and settle her little one into bed.

* * *

When Izuku turned five, his Quirk had still yet to appear. The new day care centre treated all of their students neutrally; there was no attention lavished on just one pupil with a 'flashy' Quirk, every child was encouraged and treated equally. It soothed Inko to know this, and Izuku settled quickly into the new environment. He was tucked under the wing of an older child from a different class during playtimes, with sunshine blond hair and beady blue eyes.

Izuku still fretted over his lack of power, though. Inko resolved to take him to see a specialist to try and ease Izuku's mind; there would be no reason that he should not inherit either her or Hisashi's Quirk, or even a combination of the two – a way to telekinetically control fire, maybe?

The specialist confirmed that while Izuku possessed an extra toe joint, there would be no telling in how long it would take for his Quirk to present seeing as it had not manifested shortly before he'd turned four, nor had it been present since his birth. There were no obvious signs for the latter however, seeing as no one in the Midoriya family had (to Inko's knowledge) possessed a Mutant-type Quirk.

Izuku had seemed dismayed by this but held himself confidently when told that he would have a Quirk… someday. Inko was proud of her son either way.

Three months before Izuku was due to start primary school, he dashed into the living room one afternoon in search of a hug from his mother. Inko opened her arms wide in anticipation, knowing that Izuku liked to try and tackle her into a hug. She pulled at him gently with her Quirk, helping him fly into her arms.

A crackle of energy surged between mother and son as Izuku drew nearer – lunging with his hands outstretched and orbiting around her erratically. What happened next was a blur for the pair, resulting in Inko half-embedded into the dry wall partition separating the living room from the hall and Izuku landing safely on the cushioned sofa.

"Mama?"

Inko groaned, trying to push herself away from the wall. A human-starfish indent remained in the plaster when she finally tumbled to the floor; chunks of materials and a hefty cloud of dust following Inko and she fell in a heap.

"I'm okay Izu," she said through gritted teeth. Her back felt as though it were aflame, and she was likely to have a few bruises the following day. Inko was more worried over Izuku and if he was hurt from the impact.

Inko shuffled forwards on her hands and knees tentatively. Whatever it was that had propelled the two of them away from one another might still be present in the room; it was almost like a barrier. Almost. Sure enough, Inko slammed head-first into the barrier… thing… recoiling to clutch at her forehead. Another bruise to add to the collection, it would seem.

"Mama-"

"Don't!" Inko flung out her arm; it bounced harmlessly away from the barrier. "Stay where you are, poppet. We don't know where or why this is happening, and I don't want you to get hurt."

"Inko? We heard a crash," Usagi called from the front door. "Are you both alright?"

"We're fine," she replied, eyeing Izuku for any obvious scrapes and bruises. It was lucky the couch had been there to take the brunt of the collision, and not the wall like it had Inko. "There's something keeping Izuku and I apart though, and I can't work round it."

"What do you mean?" Usagi questioned, slouching into the room.

Usagi, clad in the local high school's uniform, was set to graduate this spring. While he presented himself in accordance to the school's dress code for now, the eighteen-year-old had taken to obscurer fashion than perhaps his mother might have liked.

Ms. Ametsuchi and Inko wore a lot of pastels. Usagi did too, but naturally, he preferred his pastels with patterns, spiked collars, and eyeliner. If high school weren't there to stop him, Inko believed that Usagi would never be changed from his favourite pair of plaid baby pink trousers and would likely have coloured his fur lavender with wash-out dyes the moment he had the chance. She couldn't quite see the appeal of the Pastel Goth and Faery Kei styles Usagi adored, but she had to admit he could pull it off rather well. **[4]**

"I can't even touch him, Usagi. Whenever I do, there's an invisible wall blocking me- watch your hand!" Inko warmed as Usagi spread his fingers and pressed his palm outwards – making contact with milky green surface the barrier. It was warm to the touch and rippled under the weight of his hand.

Usagi whistled. "That's a forcefield all right. Do you think…?"

Inko's eyes widened. "It can't be, it's nothing like-"

"I've…" The pair turned to look at Izuku. An unadulterated expression of joy swept across his face. "I've got my Quirk! Mama, Usa – I got my Quirk!"

"We can see that, Izuku," Usagi said proudly, pressing both hands against Izuku's barrier. "The question is, how do we turn it off?"

Things were a little odd in the Midoriya household from that point on. There had been no easy way for Izuku to simply 'switch off' his Quirk like Usagi and Inko had hoped. Rather, they had calmed the boy down to the best of their abilities – skirting around the stinging forcefield as they went – to the point where the barrier had retracted.

The surface area it covered was still substantial, but Inko could at least wander around her home without the fear of crashing into an invisible wall every five seconds. The tough part of Izuku developing his Quirk, was that until he learnt to control it better or shrunk the barrier down to a manageable size, no one could touch him.

In the mornings when he woke up, when he arrived home from primary school, and in the evening before they said goodnight, Izuku would always hug his mother tightly and receive a kiss to the top of his head. Now their hugs were always given two feet apart with arms outstretched. If Inko was feeling brave enough, some days she would lay herself against the barrier and wrap her arms around it tightly – ignoring the tingly heat and the way the repulsing force crackled against her skin, because this was as close as she, and anyone else for that matter, was going to get to her son.

Life and the routines the Midoriya's kept had become abnormal. Inko yearned to brush her hands through Izuku's hair or to hold him close to her. Time moved on. Izuku's barrier shrunk. But still, if Inko was an attractive force then Izuku was a repulsing one. Their Quirks battled and negated one another in a spectacular fashion. Some training had revealed that Izuku's Quirk worked both similarly and dissimilarly to Inko's own. He could manipulate objects around him – could push them away, unlike his mother who drew them closer – as well as being able erect a barrier to protect himself and others should he choose to.

When Izuku turned eight, the barrier bloomed in full force once more; pinning everyone in the room to the wall, except the lone figure of Mr Takiyama.

They had been celebrating. Izuku had done well on a test. Usagi was going to enter his final year in college, but he'd also been scoped out to help Hero agencies with his quick thinking, multitasking, and level headedness. Mr Takiyama had fallen asleep in his favourite chair while Inko played hostess and passed around the soft drinks and party food. They'd ordered take out. Mr Takiyama had grumbled but had insisted on paying the delivery man himself.

"Gramps," Izuku called softly, tugging on Mr Takiyama's pant leg. "The food is here."

Mr Takiyama did not wake. A small smile stretched across the thin, white lines of his wrinkled lips.

* * *

"I'm thinking of switching back to my old job," Inko told Toshinori as the pair watched on while seagulls swarmed on the horizon and scavenged what they could from the beach before them – which, while near pristine six years ago, was almost unrecognisable now.

Toshinori hummed, and Inko saw that as her cue to elaborate more on the matter. "I retired because I had Izuku to think about, but now I'm not so sure. He's older, he has a Quirk that is largely defensive, and I feel that at the moment the world is stable enough for me to take the plunge."

"Will it make you happy, doing that again?"

Inko smiled thinly. "An acquaintance of mine would say I was a fool for even thinking about it again, but yes, I suppose it would bring the excitement back into my life again."

"Then what is there to stop you?" Toshinori inquired.

Inko drained the last of the water in her bottle; crumpling the disposable plastic container before she screwed the cap back on and deposited it in a nearby bin. Futile perhaps, seeing as others had decided to use Dagobah Municiple Beach Park as a glorified dumping ground.

She nodded to Toshinori, and he smiled right back. "That's all that matters then," he told her. "Well, I'll leave you to the rest of your run."

* * *

Izuku had been dropped off at his friend's place for a sleepover. Mirio's parents were more than happy to host Izuku for the night, and to drive the boys to their martial arts classes the next morning. It was a 'well deserved' night off for Inko, according to them. That Inko's apartment currently looked like a green house might have also been a factor. There wasn't a lot of space left for two young boys to dash around in; every available area that wasn't necessarily claimed by another object was full of potted plants.

Knowing that Izuku would be some distance from their apartment should things go spectacularly wrong settled Inko's jittery nerves. Her son's Quirk was strong; he could cloak himself and others from harm under his barrier and could widen and shrink the range. If that failed, shoving the danger away both physically and with the secondary use of his Quirk would have to do.

Usagi had temporarily moved into Inko's living room; two large carboard boxes with various electronic devices had been emptied across the furnishings and the wooden floor. Inko meandered around them, disentangling a wire from her ankle with a quick shake of her foot. In her hands she carried a dainty watering can and would stoop to feed each of the plants on her route.

Looking up from his laptop, Usagi asked Inko whether she'd had any cult followers back in the day.

"I'm not sure what you mean?"

Usagi exhaled sharply. "Like, did you have fans when you were doing Vigilante work?"

"I… no?" Inko thought on it. "I worked mainly at night, so I guess you could say I operated a lot like an Underground Hero."

"Seriously?" Usagi's pert black nose twitched. A nose ring with a tiny bell attached to the loop jingled with the movement. "No one supported you?"

"I guess you could say I gained the support of some of the people I'd saved or pulled out of a nasty situation, but even then, they were more of a support network than fans."

Usagi's hand reached for his phone; he clocked the time, his whiskers twitching mischievously. "We've got about an hour before you're due for patrol, go and get changed."

Inko ran a hand through her hair. Her fingers snagged on several knots, and she grimaced. "Why?"

"We're going to set you up a fundraising page."

Taking photographs in her living room, with care as to not display anything in the frame that could get Inko recognised, was an experience in itself. Usagi had improvised studio grade lighting with his laptop screen and had positioned Inko so that she used Mr Takiyama's numerous plants as a leafy backdrop while he snapped away at her with his phone.

The idea – allegedly – was to have it look as though Orbit was the night sky emerging between the gaps in the tree tops when one looked up in the middle of a forest. Inko thought Usagi was being ridiculous, and that he was potentially endangering them all. Ms. Ametsuchi, as placid as the woman might be, would string Inko up if she got her son arrested (Inko was already pushing it as it was with having Usagi involved) – and who would look after Izuku if Inko was remanded in custody?

She also thought that any photographs of her body were likely to be rubbish. Inko had worked hard to get herself back into shape, but eight years of child rearing, minimal exercise, and part-time work had not done her any favours. Her thirty-two-year-old body was not the same as the one she had possessed at eighteen. A post-pregnancy body could never quite be what it once was, no matter the effort one placed into shaping it so or if the bearing of the child had gone smoothly.

Inko was pleasantly surprised her jumpsuit still fit, though it ran a little tight around her widened hips and larger bust.

"I don't see why this is necessary," Inko whined as Usagi pleaded for just one more shot.

Usagi ignored her, and Inko winced as his phone camera flashed once more. "I'll show you why when you get back."

* * *

"Please tell me no one can track where this page was created," Inko wiped her face clean of sweat with a makeup wipe. Her mask – which she hade peeled away from her face moment prior – rested on the table by Usagi's laptop.

"Who do you take me for?" Usagi sniffed. "I know enough about covering my back to do something as simple as scrambling signals and addresses Inko."

"I'm only asking," the older woman retorted. She had the right to worry; this 'Patron' page Usgai had set up could well lead unsavoury figures or the police to Inko's door. "This feels weird though. People are giving me their money for a few hours of general labour and bashing the odd criminal over the head."

Usagi replied that Inko's role was much more than that. Multiple donations had rolled in already, and he was tracking tags and tending topics online – whatever that meant. Inko sighed. She earnt and had enough money to live already, and she wasn't a legitimate Hero; Inko couldn't expect monetisation for her feats because in the eyes of those in power she was no better than a criminal.

She had known this before becoming a Vigilante – and she had chosen the latter because other than she herself making a mistake and jeopardising everything, she had nothing to lose. That is, if she wished to call it a day, she could. If Inko wished to slip into anonymity and civilian life, she could and destroy any evidence. If things went wrong on her patrol, she could easily cover her tracks and never look back.

Not once had earning money for her deeds crossed her mind, and five hours after Usagi had fiddled with accounts and a place for donations to be collected, money was already rolling in.

"Right, I'm going to get changed." Inko stood slowly, her back and knees creaking. "I had a full bottle of cider thrown at me this evening, and I need to get this suit washed before it goes sticky."

Inko had ducked just in time, but the half-full glass bottle had exploded against the wall behind her – the fruity liquid spraying all over the back and right-hand side of her suit. After angrily knocking the drunk out and zip-tying his hands to a nearby lamp post, Inko had pettily stuck a glow-in-the-dark star sticker to his nose. 'I hope it drives you barmy,' she thought, knowing that the glowing object at the tip of his nose would likely annoy the life out of this disorderly individual. Just like an itch he maddeningly couldn't quite scratch.

"I'd wondered what that smell was…"

Inko laughed quietly to herself. "Let me guess, Usagi. You were to polite to ask?"

A gentle 'ping' sounding from the speakers of Usagi's laptop. "Hey, Inko?"

"Mm?"

"Someone's just donated – they've left a message if you want to read it?"

Inko stooped, levelling her gaze so that she could view the text: 'We've awaited you return. Welcome back, Milday.'

* * *

This routine of dropping off Izuku with Ms. Ametsuchi or young Mirio worked in a sense that Inko or Usgai assumed that either the latter's mother, and the Tōgata family were able to watch the child for the night. Most of the time it worked seamlessly. Inko would do a weekly patrol until she got into the swing of things again and shift to multiple days, and it was easy to plan these patrols for when someone was free to take care of her child. The more patrols she wished to conduct however, the trickier it became.

It had been two years since Usagi and Inko had established their routine, but Inko felt that a couple of nights sweeping up after criminals and the pluckier Villain really wasn't enough. She was in her mid-thirties; most women at this age were squeezing out their last few children or readying themselves for the remainder of their life spent in a dead-end job before they retired, all the while taking care of their kids.

The last option was no trouble – Izuku was as good as gold. Inquisitive (insatiably so), but his heart was in the right place. He dreamt of Heroes, of being a Hero himself. Mirio and Izuku had it all planned out – they knew what they wanted to be in future, how their Quirks could benefit one another. Inko liked to think Izuku had received her brains, as she could quite adeptly work her way out of a sticky situation while improvising with her Quirk and what she had to hand.

A part of her selfishly wished that Izuku would one day take up Vigilantism like herself. He had a great sense of justice and a desire to help people, but sometimes that wasn't enough. Bending the rules, covering the ground that money-hungry or honour-bound Heroes didn't like to tread, helping everyone because they needed your assistance – not you in need of their assistance to fill your quota. That's what it was to Inko. That's why, other than her need to stick it to the proverbial man (or rather, Mitsuki Bakugou and her cretin of a child) Inko could operate on her own in a high-stakes environment.

In hindsight, maybe she should have found employment working with stocks and shares? That would have been far safer, and definitely more legal, though just as precarious in today's economy.

Inko smiled wistfully as she laced up her boots. She had to move quietly; no one had been able to look after Izuku for the night. It was the one time where both Usagi and herself had no one to rely on, and Inko hoped that Izuku would sleep blissfully through her patrol that night. The ten-year-old was already tucked up in his bed, snuggled and snoozing beneath his covers – All Might themed, as always. Usagi had gently set out his equipment in the living room. His headset, programmed to match with an earpiece he'd swindled off of an 'associate' he'd made in college, would block most of the background noise in the apartment out.

Usagi's job generally involved guiding Inko through the streets. It had not always been like that; initially, the young man had only been watching out online for developing news stories, Villain hotspots, and Orbit's donations reeling in (Inko donated the majority of the money raised to various charities, but kept a little aside for a rainy day, paying Usagi's wage, feeding Izuku because he was a growing boy and they had to buy things in bulk, plus – when he came to visit – Mirio, and replacing or repairing her gear), but over the last couple of years Usagi had branched out. He picked up frequencies used by Hero agencies and emergency services, dispatching Inko to those locations if he deemed it safe or necessary. He also told her when to get out.

"There's been a report of disturbance roughly two blocks away from where you are currently," Usagi told Inko after she confirmed the area she was in with local landmarks and signage. "If you go now- Izu!"

"'Izu'?" Inko parroted. She clutched at her ear as shattering levels of crackling and screeches sounded form her earpiece. "Usagi, what's going on back there?"

Was it worth responding to the disturbance at this rate? Inko could hear police sirens in the distance. She slunk into a shadowed shop doorway; not entirely hidden, but also not in full view of anyone thinking she was a suspicious figure in the area. "Usagi! Pick up the damn head piece and speak to me! What's going on? Is Izuku okay?"

Inko clutched at her head as the crackling returned.

"Mum." It was Izuku. "What are you doing? Usa said you're out at the moment, but he's speaking to you through this-"

"Izuku, where's Usagi right now?"

"Oh, I pinned him to the wall with my Quirk because I thought he was doing something bad," Izuku explained. Usagi must had been chuffed, and Inko likely had another human-shaped dint in her wall to fix.

"Right," she muttered. " _Right_. Tell Usagi I'll be home in twenty minutes, please let him down from the wall in the meantime, Izu. I promise I'll explain everything when I get home, I will – I swear."

The sun had been blinding her. Twenty-five minutes later- with Inko stood sheepishly in her living room in full Orbit attire and Usagi nursing a lump on the back of his head with a packet of frozen peas – that was what she could recall when Izuku asked her about how the family business began, all those years ago. Izuku poured over her gear, how she had trained, and reluctantly she told him of Hisashi. She had promised she would not withhold the truth from him years ago, but she would only tell Izuku if he asked. The age of ten was old enough to realise that not every relationship was perfect or could last a lifetime.

Inko's mind always drew back to the pivotal moment where it had all begun though; that one spark that had inspired her, led her through nearly two decades of heart ache and disappointment, but which had also brought her so much joy. It had been an unpleasantly sunny Tuesday afternoon, she recalled, and it had shaped her whole life from that point onwards in sixth period Maths.

* * *

 **[1]** Daffodils can mean a lot of things; mainly it's unrequited love, but there's also the idea that the flowers mean 'You are the only one' or express that the person being gifted them brings happiness to the one doing the giving. It sums up Hisashi and Inko quite well.

 **[2]** This is an _actual_ thing. Not far from where I live, an event is held where runners and their children (inside these buggies) go hell for leather around a forest. It's… it's certainly something.

 **[3]** 'Rum'un' or 'rum one' can mean anything between cheeky/mischievous to someone who's likely to misbehave. So, like, a local person whose known to vandalise stuff might be called a rum'un, but at the same time, someone who's boisterous, or slippery (think Reigen Arataka) might also be a rum'un. British colloquialisms, people.

 **[4]** That's right, Usagi is a Pastel Goth bun-bun. Fite me.

* * *

 **A/N 28/9/2018 :** Well. That's it.

Thank you to everyone who had read, reviewed, favourited and followed. I hadn't planned to make this story so long, and I wasn't sure if I was going to continue _ORBIT_ after publishing the first two chapters. I'm glad I did though.

It may not be the best story out there (it really, really isn't), but I'm proud of it anyway. I think it's easily one of the better AU's I've written, and I haven't written many because I suck at them.

Thanks for joining me along the way.

 **-** Yuilhan

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* * *

 **I couldn't leave it there. These are scenes that I wished to place in this last chapter, but ultimately did not make the cut. Enjoy, and thank you for reading!**

* * *

 **1.** **In Which Izuku Sees the Light**

 **(Or rather, Izuku learns that Vigilantes aren't always the criminals the media makes them out to be.)**

* * *

"Why didn't you just apply for a Hero licence?" Izuku asked in bewilderment. His mother had been a Vigilante since before he was born.

Granted, she'd gone on a long hiatus since discovering she was pregnant, but she'd been a Vigilante for years before that point. _Inko Midoriya_ was a Vigilante. _A Vigilante._

How had Izuku never noticed before?

While growing up, he'd never been allowed to see inside the large boxes Inko kept under her bed (the place she had safely stashed her gear after deciding her wardrobe and a protective plastic bag wasn't cutting it anymore), and he'd always wondered why she was so insistent on going for runs. Some people liked to keep healthy and exercise, but his mother took it to an almost obsessive level.

Izuku's mother had simply shrugged and uttered an apology. "I just never got around to it, and at the time it was all about sticking it to the man."

Izuku's face crumpled, and Inko could see the mental agility going on as her son muttered and mumbled and twiddled his fingers like the beads on an abacus as though it would – could – _make_ him understand. "I… I… why not?"

"I never wanted to be a Hero, sweetheart," Inko told him softly. "I just wanted to show the world that the poor orphaned eighteen-year-old could do something by herself. I wanted to show the people who had left me behind that I could survive without them."

"And becoming a Vigilante was the next course of action?" Izuku replied almost scornfully.

Usagi, still trapped between this heart to heart between mother and son, coughed inelegantly. He wasn't used to such sassiness from the little kid he'd changed nappies for all those years ago – and wasn't that a shocker? Usagi felt very old in that moment. Felt like he was intruding on a moment so private that he had no right to be there, although Usagi had known about Inko being a Vigilante too, and he hadn't told Izuku anything about it.

"Well, I mean…" Inko shifted in her seat. Her leather overcoat, still adorned with spray-painted stars, creaked. It needed feeding with a set of polish or dubbing and buffing with a soft cloth to allow the leather to supple up again. "I guess it was rather extreme, but honestly, who could say that I – average grades, personality, and looks Inko Midoriya – would ever become a Vigilante after I graduated from high school?"

Izuku looked like his whole world had just come crumbling down. He had a lot to think about. Not only had his mother lied to him about being a pseudo-Hero before his birth, _and_ after it, but she'd only become so to get a rise out of her peers. No one became a Hero for a reason so petty, right? Heroes wanted to help, not prove a point.

Inko jolted sharply as Izuku slumped from the room. Usagi grabbed hold of the older woman's coat tails before she tore right after her son down the hall.

"Let him be," he said. "This is a lot to take in. Are you returning to duty, or are we calling it a night?"

"Pack everything up," Inko said sadly.

* * *

Childcare never became an issue after that. The cat was out of the bag, so to speak, and would not be bundled back inside for love nor money.

Izuku was fairly good at harbouring secrets; it was second to his skill in strategy and observation. He would not discuss Inko's secret identity with anyone outside of those already in the know; Usagi, Ms. Ametsuchi, and, if he were still alive to this day, Mr Takiyama. Izuku had never met his father, but he presumed this 'Hisashi' knew as well.

The discovery of Inko Midoriya's Vigilante identity had created a rift between her and her son. Izuku could hardly bear to look Inko in the eye, let alone speak to her. They sat in silence over meals, and Inko talked one-sidedly to the despondent boy.

"I've upset him greatly," Inko confessed to Ms. Ametsuchi.

The lop-eared woman replied; "Sooner or later the rose-tinted spectacles had to shatter. Heroes aren't the be-all and end-all the public think they are."

Izuku would either hole himself up in his room when Inko began her nightly patrols and sleep through the majority of her route if they occurred on a school night. Sometimes, when he felt more curious and less disinclined to be saddened by his mother's less than legal actions, Izuku would sit with Usagi in the living room.

He would watch as Usagi completed what looked like several tasks at once; monitoring Orbit's movements, maps, radio feeds, the donation page, and even a social media account he'd set up after coercing Inko some more, all the while bouncing around his location and throwing off any attempts of external tracking. Usagi could have found a job answering critical phone calls in for emergency response units or Hero agencies, the rabbit-Quirked man could handle the pressure and the disproportionate work load.

Instead he'd decided to potentially get himself arrested by aiding a Vigilante.

(If Izuku had known Usagi Ametsuchi at the age of ten, he would have realised that this hyperactive multitasking was the biproduct of the older male likely being descended from the Duracell Bunny, and not a extreme level of skill.)

Inko had explained to Izuku that Usagi took a weekly wage from the donations, and the rest – save for a small packet that Inko used to pay for utility bills, groceries, or kit repairs – was donated to varied charities. The latter money found itself distributed between the victims of Villain catastrophes, hospital patients and medical research foundations, and a local pet shelter.

"Your mother helps a lot people," Usagi told Izuku. The young boy was wrapped in a fleecy blanket on the sofa, watching with rapt attention as Inko reported that she'd successfully apprehended yet another mugger that night; potentially one from an organised group, if the coordinating hoodies was anything to go by, and that there was a stray dog loose in the park she was going to have to try and wrangle. "I think, despite her not able to act legally, she has enough common sense not to do anything stupid."

"But she didn't want to be a Hero for the right reasons," Izuku protested.

Usagi heaved a sigh, typing out a quick message for Orbit's followers and fans that the western quarter of Musutafu was free of muggers for the night and questioning if anyone had lost a dog. "Most Heroes don't become Heroes because they want to help, Izuku. Some want the fame and the glory, others the money. A select few do it because they've been told it's all their Quirk is good for."

Izuku stubbornly shook his head. "Not All Might."

"Ah," Usagi grinned. "But there's only one All Might – all the rest are just playing at Hero or trying to beat him. Your mother, on the other hand, helps anyone and everyone if she can. She doesn't expect payment, she didn't go out or intend to help, she just wanted to see if she could. Inko's been a Hero to people who _real_ Heroes would overlook."

"…Really?"

"Yep."

"Mum is… Mum's pretty amazing isn't she?"

Usagi snorted. "You can call it that. But after everything she's been through – and there's a lot, believe me – I think 'tenacious' might be a better word."

* * *

 **2.** **Repousser**

 **In which Izuku is a chip off the ol' block.**

 **The French 'Repousser' I got from searching for translation of repel.**

* * *

"I don't think I want to go to Yuuei anymore," Izuku announced one night as Inko served the Katsudon she had prepared earlier.

Harsh choking sounded from Usagi's side of the table, and even Ms. Ametsuchi covered her mouth politely. Inko was not so lucky and caught unawares by Izuku's declaration she dropped the full load of rice between her chopsticks directly over her lap.

"Excuse me," Usagi coughed, slapping at his chest. "But did the Hero-obsessed preteen just announce that he doesn't want to go to Hero school? I'm hearing things, right? Or has Inko slipped hallucinogenic into the battered chicken?"

"I don't tamper with my food," Inko answered sharply, before directing her attention to a proud looking Izuku.

The twelve – soon to be thirteen, he would protest – year old boy beamed brightly at his mother, cutting through the panko crust on the chicken with practiced finesse. "I wand to be a Vigilante instead."

"Nope. Now I know I'm definitely dreaming," Usagi griped.

* * *

As it turned out, Izuku was being deadly serious. He wasn't side tracked at all by Usagi's pandering or by his mother's worries. Not even Mirio Tōgata's influence – with which he had charmed Izuku into Heroism way back in nursery school, and vice versa – could make Izuku see sense. Of course, the latter wasn't told anything of Orbit; Izuku had nonchalantly mentioned he wasn't interested in being a Hero anymore.

Mirio was gutted, but Izuku would not be persuaded. He was adamant on helping his mother with patrols before he started high school at least.

"Fine then," Inko said stonily. "We're going for a run."

If Inko couldn't verbally persuade him, then perhaps a good run (with Inko's devilish pacing) would convince Izuku otherwise?

When he pulled himself up on the bench beside Inko in the park, puffing and panting, Inko knew she'd failed yet again to get through to him. Wordlessly she handed him a water bottle and a napkin to daub at the excessive sweat on his forehead and neck – Inko herself was hardly breaking a sweat.

"How… do… you do… this… all - _hahh-_ the time?" Izuku wheezed.

Inko's lips quirked. "I've been at this a lot longer than you. You're only twelve Izuku, you shouldn't really be pushing your body so hard, and I wouldn't want you on patrol with me at such a young age. I started when I was eighteen, you know, and I still wasn't prepared for some of things I went through."

"I can… handle it."

Inko raised an eyebrow. Izuku was currently struggling to catch his breath, so how would he be able to handle a knife attacker, or someone who was assaulting another person – or a Villain thrice Izuku's size on the rampage? Izuku's Quirk was useful, indeed, and Inko was pleased to no end that her son could at the very least throw up a repulsing barrier to misdirect danger away from himself. The fact remained though that her son wasn't _strong._ It had taken a while for Inko to raise her level of fitness. Izuku, though starting out young, couldn't be pushed like an adult because his body was still growing.

"Let's strike a deal then," Inko said finally. "You're going to do light training, still do the best you can in school, and you're still going to apply for Yuuei-" Inko wagged her finger as Izuku bristled. "Hear me out, you're still going to apply for Yuuei, but in your last year of middle school let's see how well you handle a year of patrols and go from there. You might find being a Hero is worthwhile after all, or you could continue Vigilantism through the rest of your education."

Izuku's head tilted to the side as he thought over the offer. "Deal."

The pair shook on it, and Inko was pleased to see that Izuku was thinking over his future plans now rather than blindly charging in. It was wonderful to see the change in her son, the progression – and it appeared that someone else had seen it too.

"Inko, is this little Izu?" Toshinori asked, his stroll through the park halting as he stopped to speak with the pair. "The last time I saw you, you only reached my knee."

Toshinori stooped with his ridiculous frame to show just how low down that was, and Izuku expected the blond man's painfully thin body to snap in half as he folded close to the floor.

Inko had mentioned that she used to speak with a 'Toshinori Yagi', and that Izuku had wrapped the hulking man around his little stubby fingers as a toddler. She had mentioned that in recent years she hadn't seen him so frequently, but now Inko could hardly believe the man before her was the same as the one she knew.

"Toshinori, you're so thin…" she breathed. "What happened?"

Toshinori hung his head. "I was caught in the middle of a Villain's fight. I've – I've lost most of the use of my stomach, so I don't eat a lot and well…"

Inko closed her eyes, sighing. Toshinori rubbed the back of his head; ruffling the scraggly blond waves of his hair. Izuku was intrigued at all this talk of a Villain, and gingerly inquired as to _when_ , _where_ , and _who_. Toshinori was more than happy to oblige – or he would have done, had Inko not grabbed her son by the back of his t-shirt and barked at him that they were to continue their run.

* * *

Ms. Ametsuchi was far closer to the age of sixty than she would have liked. Silver tipped her cheeks and the point of her ears now, and the caramel tint to her fur had softened to the colour of bleached sand. The perks of being middle aged, ready to retire, and you son still living at home while illicitly aiding one's neighbour – a Vigilante – was that Ms. Ametsuchi had a lot of free time.

She quite enjoyed Wednesday's arts and crafts night at the local community centre. The class had introduced her to a lot of her hobbies, and Ms. Ametsuchi was rather partial to knitting and embroidery. She was also the only one out of Inko, Usagi, and herself, who had not been surprised at young Izuku's voracity in following down his mother's path.

Ms. Ametsuchi could note the care with which Inko had crafted Orbit's jumpsuit and coat. It was the same care that Izuku approached his own designs with.

"I want a shorter coat, something lightweight but still warm. Boots and loose moving pants, a high-necked undershirt – though those can all be purchased." Izuku listed the aspects of his costume one afternoon while visiting his neighbour for tea and cookies. "The issue I'm having is how I'm going to hide my face and hair."

Ms. Ametsuchi hummed. "Your mother and ladies have it quite easy in how they can manipulate long hair, but that mop on top of your head it rather noticeable."

Izuku flushed, running a hand through his hair. Inko had said it was just the same as his father's; liable to tangle further the more one messed with it. Izuku, other than conditioning them properly and gently carding through the curls with a wide toothed comb, did not touch his hair. It was wild, and his attentions to the mass would only worsen the springy, uncontrollable locks.

"Have you thought about a full-face mask?" Ms. Ametsuchi inquired as she stirred a spoonful of sugar into her tea. "I could probably whip up a balaclava for you if you pick out some yarn."

* * *

Repousser entered the crime-fighting scene shortly after Izuku Midoriya's fourteenth birthday. The Yuuei entrance exam was coming up soon, but all Izuku could focus on was lacing up his boots, pulling on his ski mask, and placing baseball cap on top of his head to finish off the look.

Repousser – _Izuku –_ had a case of jitters. He was dressed in loose comfy trousers (embellished with a reflective trim running up the outside seam of each leg – added by a begrudging Inko, who was secretly flattered Izuku had picked up on her reflective and glow-y theme), a dark undershirt with a collar that rose up to his neck, a fair-isle ski mask to hide the memorable green curls atop his head in a variety of white and neon-coloured wool, as well as an embroidered baseball cap.

Inko, readied in full Orbit-attire, held open the last pieces of Izuku's costume out ready: A varsity jacket, made by herself and embroidered by Ms. Ametsuchi, and a pair of fingerless dark grey leather gloves that Usagi had found while thrifting for more Pastel Goth clothing.

Izuku slipped his arms into the sleeves of his coat. Slowly tugged on his gloves. When Usagi took Izuku's right hand in his own and curled Izuku's fingers around a small earpiece, the latter knew there was no turning back from this.

It was time for mother and son to fight crime.

During their first patrol a slime Villain emerged from beneath a manhole cover beneath a bridge in a sleepy suburban street, and Inko groaned. This time she didn't hesitate to spear him through with her beads, and Izuku used his Quirk to erect a barrier to keep them dry as the jellied chunks rained down.

All Might, who had been pursuing the slime Villain for the best part of an evening, was left with only bits and pieces to apprehend and collect from the roadside. He could have sworn he saw to slight, glowing figures escaping into the shadows as he scraped the Villain back together and shoved the chunks into a soda bottle.

* * *

 **I'd like to think that at some point during Izuku's first few patrols, he's allowed to split from Inko and somehow runs into Eraser Head. The Underground Hero looks of the tiny problematic Vigilante child, but steers clear of the mother; she could slam him into a wall quicker than he could cancel her Quirk.**

* * *

 **3.** **Hello, Inko**

 **In which Izuku attends Yuuei, and Inko reunites with a less than savoury character. This takes place after Izuku and Inko's deal ends. Izuku decides to throw all of his effort into becoming a legitimate Hero but considers the experience he gained from working alongside Orbit to be detrimental to his learning.**

* * *

"I'm going to grab us some snacks," Usagi said.

Both he and Inko had wangled tickets to watch the Yuuei Sports Festival live in the arena and were steeling themselves for excessive throat exhaustion as they cheered Izuku on during the one-on-one battles. Izuku, placed into Class 1-B at the start of the year, had triumphed in the earlier battles.

Inko had been surprised to see Mistuki and Masaru's son as the spokesperson before the first years' tournament had begun, but she wasn't at all surprised that Katsuki Bakugou had ended up at Yuuei. Likely the child had been fed lines of how strong he was – and Inko was not disputing that Katsuki was not strong. But what had been done in the meantime to curb his temper and destructive tendencies – so apparent when he was four, but no one other than herself had taken note of them – whilst Katsuki riled up his peers.

The smirk on the teen's face was pure Mitsuki, and Inko felt her stomach roil. She messaged Izuku shortly before the battles had begun (they were allowed to check their phones in their locker rooms before the tournament resumed) mainly to update him on how Mirio was storming ahead in the third years' tournament, and to check that Katsuki wasn't up to his old tricks.

Izuku had confided to her that he didn't really remember a lot of what had transpired between Katsuki and himself when they were four, but that he felt infinitely better after Inko had done something about it. Moving Izuku to different schools, meeting Mirio… it had been a step in the right direction for Izuku, who, to this day, was far more confident than he ever imagined he would have been if Katsuki Bakugou's temper was anything like his mother stressed her once best friend's was. What kind of person would he have become, had Inko not protested and taken action?

Izuku had taken the chance to call his mother after she'd text, watching dispassionately as Monoma blathered on bout Class 1-A only seeking to discredit their own class. He rolled his eyes, before explaining to his mother than Katsuki had hunted him down at the first whisperings of a Midoriya attending Yuuei.

"It's as you said, he used to call me 'Deku' – still does. No big deal though, I sent him away; most of my class don't like him though."

"… _Izuku."_

"Okay, so maybe it was more of a deal than I was willing to say. He barged in palms blazing and I got a barrier up in time to save the people sat closest to me. Either way, once he found out he couldn't bypass my barrier, I started pushing him further away. He lost interest after that and when a teacher showed up."

Izuku heard his mother sigh on the other end of the phone. He prepared himself for the oncoming lecture. "I… am so proud of you. Never forget that."

Choked up, he whispered a goodbye and ended the call. Izuku was being called to fight, and he was determined to see a podium finish if only to show her that her pride wasn't misplaced – not that it ever could be.

* * *

The tickets had been expensive; funded through extra donations by Orbit and Repousser's patrons and some of the funds Hisashi had left after Izuku's birth (the latter of which Izuku was adamant to supply so that his little family unit could always come and watch him in luxury), they allowed Usagi and Inko to buy tickets for seats with a better view in a far less crowded area. They were sat in a private box amongst the top tiered Heroes and businessmen and women scouting for up and coming talent.

Behind these private areas was a large gathering area, where drinks and snacks could be purchased – Usagi had hoped they'd be complimentary, considering the price of the ticket, but alas it was not to be. It should not have been taking Usagi as long as it had to purchase a box of popcorn. Inko clutched her phone between her hands.

"Inko?"

Ice shot through her at that voice. It was deeper, _gravelly_ – likely from smoking, or from excessive expulsions of fiery breath – but still held that same tone that had sent her weak to the knees fifteen years ago.

When she looked over her shoulder, there he stood; halfway through the door into her private box. The black curls were now waving salt and pepper shades, fine lines tugged at the corners of his dark eyes and the corners of his mouth. He was still impeccably dressed to this day, and his left hand – curled around the edge of the door to keep it from swinging open as the stands exploded into frantic cheers once Izuku Midoriya and Shoto Todoroki took their places on the field and readied themselves for a pummelling – held no glinting golden wedding ring.

"Hisashi," Inko replied coolly, hating the way her heart lurched hopefully and swallowing down the hurt because she _knew_ she'd only be disappointed in the end.

Hisashi's eyes softened. He crept into the box, leaning over the balcony as ice surged across the field and Izuku flung it straight back to its creator. There seemed to be a lot Hisashi wanted to say. Maybe why there was no wedding ring on his finger now. Possibly why he had never sought them out. Perhaps that he regretted not giving it all up, not doggedly pursuing her when she would have welcomed him back and instead backing away and handing over fistfuls of cheques like coward.

Did Hisashi wish to say that he regretted ever stepping away – that he felt repentant for never taking the time to get to know his son (who wouldn't even be able to pick him out of a crowd, despite Inko's best attempts at describing him).

"He's amazing, Inko," Hisashi said finally.

"I know."

Down on the field, Izuku bellowed something to his opponent. It was too faint for Inko and Hisashi to hear, but the raucous clamour of the crowd said enough. Shoto Todoroki's left side erupted into flame, and when his Quirk collided with Izuku's and the steam finally cleared…

Izuku was still standing.

"Believe me," Inko beamed. "I know."


End file.
